Last Orders

I had to hand it to her, it was smart thinking, and she looked stunning, with her shocking pink hair, tattoos across her bare shoulders and - yes! She'd even had her nipples pierced. That was pretty new - I wondered if getting that done, too, had inspired her suggestion of the topless barmaid routine?

For a moment, as I stared at her, I even found myself wondering if Alison would consider a change to the evening's contest and abandon our bet so she could go home with me instead! I'm not averse to a little girl-on-girl now and again and it had been a while since I'd seen any woman sexier than Alison was right then and there.

Then my resolve hardened, and I started to feel a little bit infuriated. If she'd told me what she was thinking of wearing, I'd have been able to match it. I'm a t-shirt and jeans girl but I've got sexy stuff back home too, for the right occasion - and this was apparently just such an occasion. I cursed Alison for her deception and myself for not thinking along the same lines.

So, gawped at by the few remaining customers and our colleagues we stood, bare breasted, behind the bar. I felt a degree of awkwardness - my modesty base-line was kicking in, and it was hard to resist the temptation to fold my arms across my chest and cover up my still-prominent nipples. But I didn't want to risk still being covered at the point Matt came in: I was still hoping that in spite of Alison's Ann Summers' finest outfit, if Matt saw my tits first, anything that came after would be second best. To be fair, I think Alison too was sensing that same weird awkwardness that comes from standing in your usual workplace, in front of a good selection of your colleagues, half-naked.

We'd got our Dutch courage though - we'd been steadily boozing all evening; I don't think we'd have gone through with the topless display otherwise - and fortunately some of the folks there snapped out of their trance and began to give us drinks orders to fill. As I reached for the pump handle to pull my first topless pint, I became acutely aware of the free and unrestrained movement of my breasts, and I blushed and almost laughed at the absurdity of the situation. We'd probably gone too far now, I thought to myself - we weren't going to look sexy for Matt, we were just going to come across as a pair of desperate slappers. But we couldn't back out of things now. We just had to ride it out.

My attitude changed though because, at that moment, Matt came back into the bar, and as he looked around, he clapped eyes on Alison and myself. His eyes actually bulged, and a wide grin split his face.

"What's going on here?" he asked to the general population. He'd known about the lock-in, of course, but the fact that Alison and I were planning to strip was completely new to him.

"Surprise!" both of us shouted in unison. We were not quite elbowing each other out of the way, but we were close to it... each trying to ensure Matt's attention was on us and not the other girl.

"Wow," Matt breathed. "Is this - why don't you have tops on?"

We grinned.

"We wanted to give you a treat on your last night," Alison said, trying to stick her chest out a bit without it being noticeable she was doing it.

"You certainly are!" Matt laughed. "But why?"

"We found out this place used to have topless barmaid nights, years back," I explained. "It seemed like a fun way to do your last night here, bring the old tradition back one last time." I smiled and tried to pretend that standing bare-breasted in public in front of a guy who had, until about ten minutes ago, been my boss, and just happened to also be a man I fancied the pants off, was the most normal thing in the world.

"So this is all for me?" he asked, realisation dawning - and his ego apparently feeling very flattered. He went from surprised to charmed and, indeed, charming; the cocksure and confident Matt very much coming to the fore.

"Clear a stool lads," he said to the gents who had occupied seats at the bar, all the better to take in the full sight of mine and Alison's exposed breasts, "I know where I'm spending the night." Taking his seat in the prime spot, the man of the hour turned his attention back to us barmaids and said; "Now, you luscious wenches - mine's a pint of lager..."

We practically fell over each other to be the one to pour it.

Looking back now, it's awfully embarrassing how we acted. But the combination of a lot of alcohol, the promise of a big reward - both sexually and financially - and basic competitive pride, had become a dangerous mix for both of us. We weren't our usual selves, we were half-naked idiots.

And we were about to get even more idiotic.

The beer and spirits flowed, the music from the jukebox blared, and Matt flirted outrageously with both Alison and myself, offering numerous compliments, both veiled and explicit, to our current attire (or lack of it). He seemed equally smitten with both my bouncing bare bosom and Alison's perky pierced nipples - at least at first. Gradually, though, it started to seem like he was developing a preference - and it was going to leave me feeling slighted.

It was the piercings that did it, I reckoned - although the sexy lingerie certainly helped too. Matt seemed fascinated with the little silver barbells threaded through Alison's puckered teats, asking her where and when she'd had them done, did they hurt etc. I didn't mind that - but when the questions got a bit more naughty, well, then I started to worry.

"So," I overheard Matt say, "does it feel better? Y'know, when you're with a man?"

Alison fluttered her eyelashes. "Yeah," she purred. "It feels really good." Well, she was going to say that, wasn't she? Anything to get Matt to think about what it might be like to bed her!

That was bad enough, but then Matt said; "you know, I've never been to bed with a lass with nipple studs..." The flirting was getting worse by the minute and I was just stood there with my tits out, being completely ignored - which isn't a nice feeling when you're as proud of your assets as I was of mine!

Just when I thought it couldn't get worse, Matt decided to change up a gear and, laying on the charm thick, asked Alison smoothly; "do you think I could touch them?"

Now, most times if a man had dared to ask so boldly to touch her tits, Alison would have given them some very cutting words and sent them on their way feeling suitably scolded - but Matt wasn't most people. Instead of a rebuke, she put on her best bedroom smile and said; "sure you can."

Purposefully Matt reached out a finger, which connected with Alison's left nipple. He pressed lightly, and then took that same nipple between thumb and forefinger and gently teased it. Alison sighed - I don't know if she was genuinely turned on by the sensation, but she was determined to make Matt think she was, and she was doing a damned good job. Matt was all but copping a good feel of her entire breast now, and Alison was biting her lip as if he was bringing her to ecstasy. It was turning me on a little myself just to watch!

Inwardly I raged though. Much more like that and she'd be taking him into one of the pub's back rooms to "finish the job". I had to do something to put a stop to this - and bring attention back to me.

I pretended not to notice the grope-fest happening just in front of me and barrelled in, the chatty mate. I felt a moment's satisfaction as Matt snatched his hand back, thinking he'd been caught doing something he shouldn't be.

"So Matt," I asked brightly, "you like our little goodbye present?"

He nodded, beaming, happy once again that there were two pairs of naked boobs that were currently all his for attention. "Very much! I'm the luckiest man in town right now!"

I continued the conversation. "I'm glad you like it. I just wish," I said, laying it on thick, "I'd put some more thought into what I was going to wear. Allie looks fantastic and here I am in my old jeans..."

As if on cue, Alison responded; "no, you look amazing!" and I was able to progress to the next stage of my game.

"Thanks," I replied, "I'm just feeling... a little overdressed next to you." I pretended to suddenly think of something (in fact, alcohol and petty annoyance had already prompted me down this path). "Hold on a mo'" I continued and, leaning on Alison's bare shoulder for a bit of balance, I took off my shoes and then, bold as brass in front of Matt and Alison and anyone else watching, I unbuttoned my jeans and slipped out of them, kicking them away under the bar.

Unlike Alison, who had planned on looking sexy, wearing stockings and a garter belt along with some very nice black lace panties that fully covered her bottom while enticing the eye to want to see them on the floor, I was not so sensibly dressed beneath my jeans. All the underwear I had on was a very basic, very skimpy black thong (hey, it was 2001, thongs were standard for girls my age back then). My legs were completely bare, my arse was at least 90% uncovered and I had only the most minimal cotton concealing my pussy from view. At least I'd shaved my bikini line!

I must've been pretty drunk by that point - that's the only explanation I could give as to why I thought it would be a good idea, in front of not just Matt but everyone I knew, to strip to almost complete nakedness. Even so, I instantly regretted it - I felt incredibly exposed and more than a little embarrassed by my display, and the good-natured cheers and shouts that accompanied it only made me feel more self-conscious.

I got the sense that Alison wasn't exactly pleased with my action, but what could she do? She couldn't call me out on it in front of Matt and everyone without revealing that we were competing to bed him (which would have definitely ended the game, he'd not have found much to appeal to him in the idea of going to bed with either of us after that). And she couldn't castigate me for opting to tend the bar in just my knickers when she was essentially doing just that herself (granted, she had less flesh on show than I did, but she was still essentially in just her underwear). And she couldn't one-up me now unless she actually stripped completely naked, and if she did that, well, even if she won the game, I didn't see the associated humiliation as a price worth paying. If I had to pay out £150 because Alison showed her pussy to everyone, well, I might be £150 out of pocket but at least I'd retained some mystery about myself.

At least, that's what I told myself to try to feel better about the fact I was now stuck spending the rest of the evening wearing nothing but the briefest thong. I downed my drink, needing more than ever the inhibition reduction alcohol gave me, and poured myself another

At least it was having the desired effect and I had most of Matt's full attention - especially when had I turned around to reach for more spirits from the back bar. My backside isn't my best feature, at least by my ranking, but I've never had any complaints either, and Matt obviously liked what he saw. His flirtatious chatting with Alison became flirtatious chatting with me - he even reached over more than once to give me a playful spank on my nearly-bare bottom. Nothing hard, obviously - but it gave me the idea that maybe I could imply he might want to give me a more thorough spanking somewhere in private... just the prospect of which was making me wet in anticipation.

So was Alison out of the running? Not yet, I was certain - it wasn't like he was completely ignoring her, and the two of us were still pretending to be all sunshine and smiles on the outside even as we competed fiercely. Plus, we were still technically working - Matt had been generously putting money behind the bar for everyone and it was the job of this pair of increasingly undressed barmaids to distribute those, in between doing our own heavy drinking and shamelessly trying to pull the ex-bar manager.

Of course, that meant leaving the meagre cover of behind the bar occasionally to deliver drinks to some of the assembled friends and colleagues which, now I was wearing almost no clothing at all, made me feel incredibly self-conscious and probably contributed to how much I was drinking. By now I was slurring my words and the room was taking on more than a small wobble - but one of the disadvantages of walking around nearly nude was that a lot of other lads wanted to give me drinks, so I kept on boozing probably longer than I should have.

It was on one of these trips away from the bar that I stumbled, turned around quickly and, the next thing I knew there was a squeal, a crash and I was stood drenched from head to foot in sticky, cold beer and mixed spirits.

Standing in front of me, mouth open in shock, an empty tray still clutched in her hands, was Alison.

Now, what I'm told really happened is that I came out of nowhere, walked into her and managed to knock the tray she was carrying all over myself. It was a complete, total, genuine accident, born out of my drunken clumsiness and Alison's slightly-less-drunken-but-still-pretty-drunken lack of awareness. But that wasn't how I saw it at the time.

What my booze-addled, angry brain told me then had happened was that Alison, in an act of revenge against me for all but winning our contest through my cunning ruse of taking off as much clothing as I could get away with, had deliberately upended a tray of drinks all over me in a last-ditch attempt to put me out of the running so she could go home with Matt. Now I was drenched, my hair plastered to my face, reeking of beer, cold, sticky, shocked - and furious.

There was a moment of complete silence in the bar, and then I broke it.

"You COW!!" I yelled - and I leapt at her.

We went flying, sprawling across one of the nearby tables, knocking it over and covering both of us in more spilled drinks; and then we were down on the floor, rolling around, grappling and trying to hit one another in a frantic mess of near-naked limbs and sopping wet hair.

It wasn't a proper fight - it was a hair-pulling, titty-grabbing, shrieking, drunken wrestling brawl. I don't really recall the finer details, I was too drunk and too blinded by my fury. But I do know, unfortunately, that at one point Alison reached for the only thing she could get hold of - the waist of my thong - and yanked my underwear down; and still I kept on coming at her.

At first, the men in the bar - all as drunk as we were if not more - thought this was fantastic. Two nearly-naked babes brawling around on the floor tearing at what little clothing they were still wearing? You'd pay money in some places to see that. But eventually it became apparent that for some reason we were genuinely trying to kill or at least maim each other, and so burly arms pulled us apart and across the barroom from each other.

I stood panting, hair all over the place, room swimming about me, for a minute or two, filthy, sticky and sore. Then I realised that I'd lost my underwear in the fight and was now standing in front of the shocked bar completely, totally, stark naked.

I went crimson, clapping my hands over my exposed pussy. I couldn't do much to cover much else and besides, they'd seen more or less all the rest already. Indeed, they'd probably seen a lot more when we were down on the floor, but still, I felt a need to try and retain some dignity (even though that train had long since left the station). Alison had fared a little better - at least, she was wearing as much clothing as she had been when I'd started the fight, although her stockings were torn and laddered and one had disconnected from the garter belt completely. She stared at me with an expression of confusion, hurt feelings and complete anger, and all I could do was stare dumbly back, before the same people who had dragged me off of her decided it was probably best if I. as instigator, left the scene, and marched me out of the bar.

I spent the next few minutes sitting naked on the fire escape at the back of the pub, shivering in the cold night air. For some reason, nobody seemed to be in very much of a hurry to find me my clothing, although there was no shortage of folk coming outside to ask incredulously "what the hell was that all about?" All I could do was cover my nakedness with my hands and tearfully respond that I had no idea what had come over me.

In the end, someone felt sorry enough for me to retrieve sufficient clothes of mine to cover my nakedness, and get me into a taxi home. I passed out on my bed and awoke the next day with a nightmare hangover and, after a few brief moments of complete amnesia, recalled every little thing I'd done the night before and, red faced, rolled over and stuffed my pillow in my mouth to stop myself from screaming in appalled, gut-clenching embarrassment.

Once the room had stopped spinning and the sense of humiliation had done making me break into a sweat, I found my mobile phone and read, in the black pixels on that tiny green Nokia screen, a text from Alison. No mention of the fight, or anything else - it just read "Bitch. You owe me £150."

I fell back on to my bed, and laughed.

Paying Alison the £150 was only the start of my long process of apologising to her. She made sure I took on all the worst tasks at work, bought many drinks for her and made further atonement by frequently supplying her with chocolate and, eventually, we were friends again.

She'd earned the £150, of course. Apparently my attacking her had clinched it. Matt had seen her, the unwitting victim of my craziness, covered in beer, bruised and battered, half-naked with her clothing torn, and it had brought out the chivalrous gentleman in him. He'd invited her back to his flat (as it was nearby) to shower and clean up and, once there, she'd invited him into the shower with her, an invitation he'd been glad to accept.

"It wasn't great," she admitted later. Matt, it turned out, hadn't been the energetic and acrobatic lover we'd imagined him to be - although a lot of the blame for that had to lay on the amount of alcohol we'd all been drinking. Certainly, she told me, what they'd done the next morning when they'd both slept off the worst of the drinking was a lot more fun.

She didn't see him again, though, not that way anyway. In fact, he stayed well away from the Kings Arms after that. I reckon he'd figured out what had been going on between Alison and me - perhaps he'd always known, and it had flattered his ego to even encourage our behaviour. I mean, two lovely young girls competing for you? Showing you their bodies to get your attention? It had been a dream come true for him. But then we went to actually, physically fighting over him, and that had probably put him off.

That wasn't the end between Matt and me, though. About a year later, I ran into him in a nightclub. Him, and his new girlfriend. The long-suffering one had tired of his philandering ways and kicked him to the kerb, but he'd hooked up now with Tabitha, who was a lot more... open-minded. So open minded, in fact, that a recounting of the story of Matt's last night at the King's Arms led to a suggestion from Tabitha that I come back to theirs and join her and Matt, together, in the bedroom. An invitation that, after some brief consideration, I accepted with enthusiasm. And while let's just say Matt lived up to the relatively minor expectations that Alison's account had given me of him, Tabitha was... something else, and with her I had a night I wasn't going to forget in a while.

But that's another story...