The Gig Pt. 02

The interview was barely a formality.

Pat walked up to the open garage that flanked the small house in the old suburb. A white van was parked in front of it, the doors opened in order to receive a steady stream of catering equipment. The caterers carrying the equipment, Pat noticed, were all young women.

The garage itself had been converted into an office/storage shed for the catering company Amanda had referred her to. Rows of shelving filled the space, loaded with pots and pans and linens. Behind all of that was the office space, and behind a small old desk in the back of the garage was Ted, the owner of the catering company.

As Pat approached, a nervous tension rose in her belly. Ted was in his mid-thirties, handsome if a little disheveled, a mop of brown hair crowning the tanned face of an ex-surfer. An ill-fitting suit hid his frame, but it was easy to see he was in fairly good shape. He would be her boss, the man giving her orders. Was he The One? Was he to be the man to take charge of her sexual life, her sexual being? Was he going to be her Master?

This was the one moment of choice she gave herself. If he qualified, she would obey him completely, whether or not he knew he had this power over her. But if he didn't, she gave herself the right, this one time, to say no and reject his authority. He would only be her boss.

"You must be Pat" he said, half rising to shake her hand.

"Yes. Ted?" she replied.

"Yup. So, Amanda told you about the gig. It's simple; basic catering, apparently you have the experience?" he said, looking at Pat.

She nodded yes. So far, she liked the energy he gave off. The aura of control. Her mouth felt dry with a secret anticipation.

"Pay is pretty much standard for the industry," he continued, "but, uh, tips are where it's at. We do parties, private parties, mostly guys looking for a good time, and they're willing to tip well for that. How much they tip might depend on how much you do, or show, if you get my drift...But, that's up to you, I'm not requiring or encouraging anything that would be illegal, just, like, sexy sells, it's kinda job requirement to, you know, not be shy, show a little skin, maybe, if you're cool with that.."

The more he spoke the more Pat was certain that he was not, indeed, the One. He was exactly what he looked like, an aging surfer who needed some way to make money, and settled on throwing parties with sexy girls. This was probably his mom's garage.

Pat tried to hide her disappointment. It was still a good gig, and she needed the money. College was not going to pay itself.

"So..." continued Ted,"if you're ready, Sarah can give you the lowdown on tonight. The theme is Hawaian, so it's going to be grass skirts for everybody."

"Tonight? Like right now?" stammered Pat.

"Well, yeah." said Ted.

He got up and went to a rack filled with boxes of decorations. He pulled out a fake grass skirt and tossed it to Pat.

"That's it? Do I get to wear anything else?" asked Pat, suddenly panicking.

"I think most of the girls are wearing their bikinis. Didn't Amanda tell you to bring yours?" said Ted.

"She...forgot."

"I mean, you could just wear your underwear" said Ted matter-of-factly.

Pat stood there, clutching the grass skirt, mentally reviewing her morning. What underwear did she put on? In the back of her head she could hear Amanda laughing.

Pat followed in her car as the white van made its way through the broad streets of a wealthy suburb. Her hands were damp with nervous excitement. The job itself seemed simple enough. But she was about to step out dressed only in a grass skirt and her underwear in front of a group of people. Thankfully she had worn a nice lacy black bra and a matching thong, though it meant she would be barely covered under the swaying skirt. Her exhibition at the fashion show still made her pussy throb. She had masturbated feverishly for days afterwards, tortured by the memories. The same reluctant desire was now swelling in her.

Should this evening be one of her Slave Day? Did she dare? Without making a conscious decision, she felt that loosening in the back of her brain, that release that meant that she had let go of her will. She was no longer responsible for what she would do tonight. She was at the mercy of any man, and the thought sent a thrill across her body.

The van pulled up a long driveway flanked by a sweeping lawn. A large building, all fake Tudor windows and mixed Greek columns, announced itself by means of a large plaque as the local golf course and country club. The van curved towards the rear of the building, and Pat followed.

Several other girls who had also driven there were standing around, waiting for the van. One of the women was Amanda. She waved when she saw Pat, a big grin on her face.

"I'm glad you could make it tonight!" the tall girl exclaimed as she gave Pat a fierce hug. "It's gonna be a ton of fun!"

The first hour was actually no fun at all. Like all catering jobs, the set-up was fast and brutal. The girls, all young and pretty, were also tasked with hauling the folding tables, dishes and serving wares up the broad flights of stairs that led to the back terrace.

A banquet was being set-up, with little help from the few members of the country club staff. The place was actually surprisingly empty. This was to be a private affair. Two dozen men getting together to celebrate the birthday of one of the club members.

By the time the place was set up, most of the girls were happy to change into their serving outfits as the summer night was still hot and muggy. For most it simply meant stripping off their pants and T-shirts, revealing skimpy bikinis. The grass skirts went on, and they were ready.

Pat and Amanda were standing by their cars as they stripped. Pat couldn't help but admire Amanda's incredible figure. Her toned legs and tight ass only enhanced the curves of her waist and large breasts. She wore a tight flowered bikini, pushing her breasts together to create a gravity defying cleavage. She shook her honey brown hair loose, tucking a flower behind her ear. As she tied on her grass skirt, she looked up at Pat.

"Aren't you getting dressed?" she asked.

"I don't have a bikini. Apparently somebody forgot to tell me to bring one" Pat said, mock accusatorially.

"Oops" said Amanda, grinning.

Pat pulled down her pants, and stepped out of them, trying to be quick. She took of her shirt, standing in the parking lot in her black bra and thong, enjoying the thrill of being near naked in this unusual place. She noticed that her bra was fairly see through. She could clearly see the outline of her nipples through the lacy fabric. Nipples that were becoming harder by the second.

She quickly wrapped the grass skirt around her waist, glad for the cover of her naked bum.

The men were in their late forties, dressed in needlessly expensive jeans and soft-collared shirts. They were mostly well-behaved as they sat around the banquet table, laughing and toasting the birthday boy. They smiled appreciatively at the girls, shamelessly looking them up and down as they moved around, filling glasses and switching plates. But they kept their hands to themselves and refrained from making rude comments.

Pat caught the eye of one of them, a handsome bearded man who stared at her when she was near. He had a slight smile on his face as he looked at her, his eyes drifting from her almost bare breasts to the her grass skirt. Pat wondered about how much he could see through it. Did he know that her ass was basically bare? She almost accidentally brushed against his arm as she refilled his glass of water, his skin making contact with the soft skin of her thigh through the parted grass. He looked up at her, but she feigned innocence and walked away, feeling his eyes on her ass as she sashayed further down the table.

And then someone brought out an expensive bottle of tequila and the party went a bit sideways.

One of the men tucked a fifty dollar bill in the waistband of one of the girls, which triggered a general cheer from the rest of them. She appreciatively shook her hips and jiggled her bikini-clad breasts in his face. He leered and stuck another fifty in the waistband of her grass skirt. She smiled and undid her bikini top. Her breasts shook loose, heavy and swaying in their sudden freedom. She pushed them together, offering a thick brown nipple to his mouth. He dove in, slurping at her nipple and joyfully burying his face in her cleavage, making happy yum-yum noises.

The rest of the men cheered and generally lost their minds. A line had been crossed. Dollar bills suddenly appeared in every hand, and bikini tops were dropping to the ground. Pat had a sudden bout of rising panic. She was not used to this; her exhibitions were always oblique, sly, deniable. She had never looked a strange man in the eye and taken off her top for him to gaze at her. She felt very self conscious and uncomfortable, strangely afraid that she would chicken out when all she really wanted was to be seen.

And now a man was there, looking up at her, a folded bill in his hand, a sloppy drunken smile on his face. All she could do was hang her head down to hide her blushing cheeks.

And then Amanda was there, behind Pat. The tall girl wrapped her arms around Pat, her large naked breasts pressed against the back of Pat's head. Amanda led Pat in a shimmy, her hands on her hips.

"Put the money in the skirt!" Amanda told the man.

He did, sliding the folded bill into the front of Pat's grass skirt. Amanda unhooked Pat's bra, and before Pat could do anything about it, yanked it off. The man hooted as her pert breasts were finally exposed, her nipples already hard and tight.

Pat tried to squirm away, but Amanda's firm body prevented her from getting away. She felt a flush of red spread across her chest and face as the man stared frankly at her naked breast. A deeper, warmer flush spread across her thighs.

"I dare you to dance on the table" whispered Amanda in Pat's ear.

"There's no way...' protested Pat.

"if you don't do it, some other girl will, and she'll get all the good tips. Don't you want to make money?" replied Amanda.

Pat bit her lip. She needed the money, and after all, a dare is a dare. But she hesitated. She wanted the attention, to be exposed, but not like that.

Amanda took charge.

"Hey, don't you want to see her dance?!" she yelled out at the table of men.

A chorus of "Yeah!" and "Dance! Dance!" erupted from them.

The man seated near Pat stood up and offered his hand. Meekly, mortified, Pat took it. She stepped onto the man's chair in order to get onto the table. All eyes were on her now. She wanted to run, to hide her naked breasts, but her nipples were hard and tight, betraying her excitement.

She started to move, shimmying her hips, making the grass skirt shake. A cheer went up. Bolder now, Pat started dancing in earnest, shaking her breasts at the assembled men. She started to smile.

Dollar bills were being tucked in her skirt. Yells of "take it off" started to sound.

Eyes closed, as if to not see her own hands undoing the ties of her skirt, Pat danced. The skirt dropped. Another cheer went up. Her skirt had pooled at her feet, leaving her now only in her thong panties, dancing on the table, surrounded by a dozen drunk and rowdy men.

"Take it all off!" someone yelled out, and the rest of the men cheered, laughing.

Pat continued to shimmy on the table, trying not to knock over the silverware. Her nipples were tight knots of pleasure, hard, sensitive even to the tug of gravity as her breasts swayed with her dancing. Her pussy was moist, she could feel it. Every step she took brushed her thighs together, squeezed her clit, sending a little wave of warmth and pleasure up her spine.

She felt her hands brush against her thong, felt the thin cords being pushed down, over her round ass, past her thighs. She kept her eyes clamped shut, her mind reeling, her breath short. She couldn't say no, as a good little slave, she had no choice but to reveal herself to them. To take it all off. Her shame fed her lust. She could feel a thin cool strand of her pussy grool against her thigh.

Her thong was caught at her knees. Instead of pushing it further down, she knelt, then got on all fours, her ass high in the air, her small breasts swaying beneath her. She continued swaying to the music, her hips and ass circling, circling, as if an invisible lover took her from behind. The men behind her had a perfect view of the shaved labia of her sex open and close, her wetness obvious, her inner lips swollen and pink.

She looked through her hanging bangs at the man at the head of the table. The birthday boy was a man in his early fifties, with chiseled good looks under salt and pepper hair. He was looking at her intensely, leaning back in his chair. His eyes were fixed in hers. With a single finger he waved her over.

Without a hesitation, Pat started crawling towards him, her hands and knees shuffling aside the scattered silverware still on the table. The thong, still around her knees, kept her crawl from being graceful. No one cared.

Suddenly a loud "crack" was heard and Pat yelped. Someone had slapped her ass. The heat and pain radiated from one cheek to her thighs, the unexpected pain and pleasure drawing a moan out of her lips. She hung her head a little lower, and raised her ass a little higher.

The mood shifted. Those a little less drunk noticed. Most did not and just cheered, thinking the spanking was a great joke. But a few scrambling step further and another smack landed on her exposed ass, making her yelp and moan. Pat shuffled forward a bit more, and another hand landed hard on her ass. She yelped again, to further cheers from the men.

Pat could only guess at how red her ass was, but the heat she felt coming from the spankings had set her pussy on fire. Her clit felt swollen and throbbing, caught between her clenched thighs. Each small shuffle forward rubbed against it. Each smack on her ass shot a lance of heat and pain and pleasure right to her clit. She looked up slightly to judge the distance to the birthday boy. It looked so far away. There was a good chance she would have an orgasm right there, on the table, in front of all these drunk men, before she even reached him. The thought horrified her and turned her on even more.

Smack!

Another hand landed. Pat kept moving.

Smack! This time the man behind the hand left it there, roughly grabbing a handful of her ass, shaking it while laughing. His buddies cheered and laughed. Pat shuffled forward, expecting the next hand to land.

Instead she felt her left breast being cupped by a hand, lifted and weighted, before that same hand pinched her hard nipple. She almost fell at the stab of pleasure shook her shoulders. She had to bite her lip to not cry out.

Smack! Another hand landed, setting her ass on fire. She shuffled forward.

Smack! And another, this one also lingering, but the fingers were gentler. They slid past the swell of her red cheek and brushed against the slippery lips of her pussy. For a brief second Pat hoped he would push in, part her, finger fuck her..but no, the hand slid by and disappeared.

Suddenly she was there, at the end of the table, her hands gripping the edge, her ass and pussy aimed at the rest of the assembled men. In front of her, the birthday boy, the birthday man really, was sitting back, a small smile on his lips. A hard bulge was evident in the crotch of his pants. Pat stared at it, licking her lips. Her hips were swaying, her ass red and hot, her pussy aching to be fucked. She was a cat in heat, waiting for release.

The man leaned forward to cup one of her breasts. He pulled at her nipple, causing her to arch her back in pleasure. He lifted her chin with his other hand in order to bring her face up, locking her eyes with his. As he spoke he kept tugging and twisting at her nipple, causing Pat's knees to shake.

"You are one hot little bitch. You are enjoying this, aren't you? You made me so hard, what are you going to do about it? Are you going to suck my cock?" He asked, squeezing her nipple.

"If you want" gasped Pat. "Whatever you want."

"Here's the thing," he said, now pinching her other nipple,"there are rules in this place. Things we can't be seen doing. You know what I mean?"

Pat nodded. He was going to take her to a room. He was going to fuck her, finally, end her shame and her burning need for a cock buried in her pussy.

But no.

"You're going to crawl under the table, you're going to take my cock out and suck it until I come in your mouth. Right?" He said, pinching her nipple harder.

Pat could only nod, tears of shame and frustration swelling in her eyes. Her mind was screaming that everyone will know that she was sucking his cock under the table, barely hidden by the table cloth. Her pussy clenched with pleasure at the thought that everyone will know that she was sucking his cock. Her pussy won.

With barely a moment of hesitation, Pat started crawling forward, and down, climbing head first through his legs, rubbing her body along the full length of his, making sure that he got a good view of her pussy as she moved down. His hands were on her, helping her, catching a nipple, a hip, his fingers grazing across her wet pussy.

Somewhere people where cheering.

Under the table the world was hot and dark. She twisted around to face him. He had moved forward, slouching a bit to bring his crotch deeper under the table. Pat immediately went for the zipper of his pants, her small hand digging into his crotch to pull out the thick soft hot length of his cock.

She shuffled forward, resting her elbows on his knees. Her head barely fit under the table, so she had to turn her face to the side before pulling the cock towards her mouth. She opened wide and took the soft head of it between her lips. He was sizable, but not huge, the glans perfectly fitting on her tongue.

She swallowed and took another an inch in. Swallowed again and drew another inch. Breathing through her nose, she slowly, methodically, took the entire length of the cock into her mouth and throat. A salty wetness on her tongue told her he was enjoying this, his precum already oozing down her throat.

Keeping her mouth around his cock, she slowly turned her head back to a more comfortable position. As long as she kept deep throating him, her head could fit between the table and his crotch. She pulled back a bit to breathe through her nose, bumping her head, before sinking back down, nestling her nose in his crinkly pubic hair.

Her fingers started stroking his balls. They were tight, trembling. He was not going to last much longer. Pat stated a gentle motion up and down, slowly, timed to her breath. Up a few inches until she could draw a breath, then back down until her mouth and throat were full. She swallowed, massaging his cock with her throat, focussed only on his pleasure. Her eyes were closed and feeling completely at peace. This was a primal part of who she was, a cock-sucker, kneeling at a man's knees with a throat full of his dick.

She could feel a tremor in his balls. she started sucking harder, pulling his cum out of him. His hands suddenly gripped her head as his hips bucked upwards, pushing his dick deeper into her mouth. A jet of cum slid down her throat, then another, and another. His bucking hip pushed her head against the table. She started to choke a bit, now getting desperate for air. But his hands kept her mouth locked on his cock, gagging her. Finally he pushed her away, letting a huge lungful of air sweep in. A thin trail of spit and cum still connected his cock to her mouth.

He casually wiped his cock on a napkin before stuffing his softening dick back in his pants.