The Life of a Hoosier Farm Girl Ch. 03

In Chapter 2 Mike and Nancy are beginning a romance. Nancy is playing hard to get; well just a little hard to get. Sexually frustrated, she lets a neighbor seduce her that very night; they have exhibitionist sex, and are surprised and joined by yet another neighbor. Nancy has let her slutty nature out to play. The next morning Mike comes by to pick her up for the ride back to NYC, and after fooling around above the waist with Mike, he drove her back from DC to NY without further incident.

Chapter 1 is in Exhibitionist and Voyeur and Chapter 2 is in Group Sex.

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Mike called on me the day after he dropped me off at my pathetic room in a brownstone in deep Brooklyn. But it was all I could afford; I was just beginning as a nurse. Nurses are not highly paid, and New York is amazingly expensive.

I invited Mike in, to be polite. I was relieved when he begged off, since my digs embarrassed me. He asked if we could go out the next day, but I had the evening shift. "When are you free in the evening?"

I checked my phone for my schedule, and I said, "Friday night, and even better I'm off on Saturday!"

We made a date for Friday night. I now had access to my full wardrobe, but I decided to wear the same sweater, and with no bra. This was risqué, since you could plainly see the pink circle of my aureolas through the sweater.

My nipples poked at it in a prominent and obvious way. This was at least partially because the sweater kept rubbing my nipples. The result was that my nipples were constantly hard. Wearing the sweater without a bra was exhibitionist, and maybe this was a long-term residual side effect of the experimental meds, who knows? But dammit I wanted to show off my body for Mike.

I also did not mind showing it off for other men who might see me that night. I even got a little wet at that thought.

I went the extra mile and unzipped the sweater down as far as I dared. Then I channeled Billie Jean from the restaurant powder room in DC, and I pulled it down farther than I dared to do. It made me nervous and self-conscious, so I put it out of my mind. We're only talking millimeters here, but still.

This was New York, after all, not Brown County. People have seen everything here, even painted naked women in Times Square. So, a little peekaboo with my boobs was no big deal in the grand scheme of things.

Mike picked me up and instantly noticed my daring dressing behavior re my zipper. His eyes looked straight at the parts of my boobs showing. He kissed me hello as he stood at the front door of the brownstone, and as he kissed me he lowered the zipper even a tad farther. Now I was unzipped all the way to below my boobs, and I was going to have to be very careful how I moved the entire evening.

Mike did not notice, but I had worn a tight and short skirt. It hugged my behind so snugly it came in and caressed my crack. It was sheer, too, so you could see my panties through it. It would have looked even better without any panties, but I did not have the courage.

As it was, when I sat down in the waiting Lyft car in front of my apartment, I had no choice but to flash my panties. Fortunately, Mike did not see the stenciled "Grab this" emblazoned on my pink panties, right over my most intimate area.

Mike could not read the stencil (that would come later, I guessed) but he did enjoy the free peek at my panties until I delicately crossed my legs.

He took me to a fancy New York restaurant. Fancy New York is much fancier than fancy Washington. I was so underdressed I felt humiliated. I looked like a cheap tart Mike had picked up in Times Square, compared to the elegant women on the arms of men.

The other difference was that Mike was only between 3 and 8 years older than me, and most of the men there had sophisticated and gorgeous 20 something women dangling on their fifty and sixty-year-old arms.

"This place is so fancy, Mike!" I said. "Next time, warn me, okay? I'll dress more appropriately," I said, apologizing for how inappropriate I looked. Actually, I did not own any clothes I could wear to such a place, but if Mike ever wanted to take me back again, well, I would buy some.

Self-conscious to the max, I zipped up my sweater. I sat with my long legs crossed, and that was enough to command the attention of every one of those old men who had those gorgeous young gold diggers on their arms.

"Unzip for me, baby," Mike said. "I want to show you off to all the old farts all around us. They can eat their hearts out, because you're mine tonight."

I melted when he said, "You're mine tonight." I thrived that he was proud to have me on his arm. Something flipped inside me just then, and I lost the will to resist him. I was as surprised as Mike was when I said, "Whatever you want, Mike. I'm yours tonight. Do with me as you like. Whatever you want," and as I said it, I slowly licked my upper lip with my tongue. I reached up and began to unzip the zipper that went down the length of my sweater. I unzipped it excruciatingly slowly. "Say when, big boy," I said.

I thought again of Billie Jean from the DC powder room, because Mike was drooling. I actually had him drooling! I was now unzipped to the top of my boobs. I paused and looked at Mike.

"Keep going, baby," he said. He was smiling broadly as he drooled. The waiter came and we chose the water. He gave Mike the wine list. Mike kept it, and ordered us two martinis. Asking what kind I wanted, I scanned the list. I chose the 'Vodka Blue Martini.' I had no idea why it was called blue, but hey, my eyes are blue, so why not.

The waiter left and Mike said, "Keep going," and he gestured to my sweater zipper.

I slowly, ever so slowly, kept zipping it down. It was now half way down my boobs. I turned towards a mirror on the wall of the restaurant, and I could tell I was now at the limit of polite society, in terms of my zipper. Any more, and I was entering hussy territory. I looked at Mike as my hand left my zipper. I was sure he had had enough.

"Keep going," he said. I felt shame and at the same time serious arousal. I realized I was letting Mike control me. I was submitting to his desires. He seemed to be enjoying it, too. My pussy was wet. I wondered if Mike was hard?

Before I could continue, the waiter returned with our martinis. Mike asked him to return later for our food orders. The waiter glanced at me, and I saw that his eyes went straight to my boobs. I wore no bra, so he must have seen boatloads of soft, pink flesh.

We toasted and tasted our martinis. Mine was sky blue in color and it almost matched my eyes. Mike explained they had used a liqueur known as Blue Curaçao that comes from the Caribbean. The Blue Curaçao gave the martini a delightful sweetness. I looked at Mike with true affection in my eyes. I wondered if he could see that?

"Keep going," Mike said.

I raised my eyebrows in surprise, but my hand went to the sweater's zipper, and I answered once again, "Say when."

I unzipped slowly, with Mike sipping his martini and never taking his eyes off of me. I zipped it down below my boobs, and now if I moved slightly, I would reveal all of them. This was obviously too much. I looked at Mike, my eyes silently questioning him, but he just kept smiling.

I had stopped, so Mike said, once again, "Keep going, baby."

My eyes must have now shown submission, and I think Mike saw it there. He knew I had no choice but to obey him. I tried to resist, really, but I could not. My hand returned to my zipper and I continued to unzip, slowly. I noticed several men at neighboring tables, and their gold diggers, too, were watching this little drama with my zipper, as it unfolded.

I had now unzipped to the point where there was only about one inch left to unzip. A little more, and the zipper would be undone. It was theoretically possible that if I continued to that point, my blouse sweater would fall open, exposing most or all of my bare boobs to the entire restaurant.

I looked at Mike, now a little bit desperate. He saw my eyes, and he saw that only an inch or so of my zipper was left, and he too realized the consequences of his not telling me to stop. I said, "I will if you want me to, Mike."

That was all he needed to hear apparently, because he said, "When." I exhaled. I turned and glanced in the mirror. Basically, you could see at least half of my boobs, and half of my rather large areolas, but my nipples were still barely covered by the sweater. If I were to twist or do much of anything, I would probably reveal about 90% of my boobs, nipples and all. I remained perfectly still.

We began to study the menu. When I looked down at the menu, my sweater billowed open just enough to put my entire boobs on full display. I turned bright red, pulled the sweater closed, and held it closed while studying the menu. Everything looked good to me, and I chose the branzino, to be preceded by some exotic looking vegetable dish.

However while I was doing this, Mike commanded, "Hands on the table, Nancy." Quick as a bunny I obeyed. My sweater drifted apart, but I was powerless to control it since I felt my hands had been glued to the table. Oh my God, I thought, am I really in Mike's power?

I found out right after we finished the first course. Mike said, "Go to the ladies' room, Nancy, and return with your panties in your purse." This would be humiliating, since my skirt was sheer, and everyone would see my boobs to boot. And as if that were not enough, I would doubtless flash my pussy when I sat back down, since my skirt was so short.

Not even questioning him, all I did was ask, "May I zip up a bit, first?"

"No, babe," Mike said. "And as you go, keep your hands on your hips." Mike did not want me to hold my sweater closed. "Now go," he said, his tone brooking no further questions or appeals.

In the ladies' I used the occasion to pee, noting how wet my pussy was, and I washed up and put my panties in my purse. My boobs had been bouncing around as I walked quickly to the ladies' and I am sure at one point or another all of my girls: boobs, areolas, nipples, everything, must have been visible to all the lecherous men accompanied by their gold diggers.

"Nancy?" I heard a familiar voice. It was Billie Jean, my 'friend' from the DC ladies' room, who had started me down this urban version of an exhibitionist slippery slope. This was a truly bizarre coincidence. "Honey," she said, "It's great to see you again, but I do believe you are taking my instructions too far, you know?"

"Yes, I know. But my man seems to control me, and this is what he wants." I also showed her my panties, now in my purse.

"Wow, honey. You have a live one. Hats off to you." Then Billie Jean pulled out two pink pussy hats she had left over from the march, and we each put one on, and walked back to our table. As we walked, my boobs bounced around and my sweater separated, and anyone who looked could see all of my girls, on fine display.

Billie Jean stiffened my courage and resolve, so I did this walking with ramrod straight posture. I brought Billie Jean to our table, and reminded Mike who she was. He invited her to join us at our table.

Billie Jean declined, saying, "That is right nice of you, darlin', but I don't want to distract you from the inevitable pussy flashing of little Nancy here when she sits down in her truly short and tight skirt, now do I? And also, I'm afraid my littl' old sugar daddy over there will be mighty disappointed if I don't go back to him and make some sexy remarks all evening long, you know what I mean?"

Mike said, "Well maybe later, for an after-dinner cognac?"

"Or Armagnac?" Billie Jean replied, turning on her southern drawl.

"It's a date," Mike said. I did not know what Armagnac is, but I figured I would find out later, and I just stood there, quietly.

Billie Jean moved my chair next to Mike's, so that we were sitting next to each other instead of across from each other. "You two are such a good-looking couple, you need to sit together. Don't disappoint me by keeping your hands on the table, now, kids. Enjoy yourselves, if you know what I mean," and then this southern wench left to return to her "littl' old sugar daddy."

We both still wore our pink hats. I am sure I did in fact flash my pussy to a few men who were by chance seated so that they could see. I saw the surprise in their faces as I sat down. Mike copped a quick feel of my boobs but rapidly withdrew his hand as the waiter approached.

We ordered our food and wine, and when the waiter left, Mike did what Billie Jean had foreseen. His hand went under the table and he put it on my bare leg. I put my hand over his, not removing it, but trying to keep it from its inevitable drift up my leg, towards the honey box that was doubtless Mike's hand's goal.

"Hands on the table, babe," Mike said, command in his voice. Instantly both my hands were on the table. Mike slowly moved his hand up my leg. "Open your legs, woman," he now said. I had them closely together, knees touching.

I did not know what to make of the change from calling me "babe," now to calling me "woman," but I liked it, strangely enough. It depersonalized me, and simply made me into his love object, a woman to use for his pleasure. I knew Mike was not like that, but I was into this little game he was playing. It got me aroused. My legs opened, just a little.

Mike pushed my legs father apart, really exposing my bare bush. His hand began to inch up my inner thigh, relentlessly advancing towards its obvious goal. As it got closer to my pussy, ever so slowly, my tension mounted, and my wetness increased. My breathing got heavy, and my boobs started gently heaving on my chest, wreaking havoc with my upper body modesty, arranged the best I could with my unzipped sweater when I sat down.

When Mike's fingers touched my pussy, I jumped a little in my seat, and I let out a barely audible gasp. It sounded like a sonic boom to me, I was so aware of my exposure to everyone. The little start of my body caused my sweater to billow and my boobs to jiggle. I'm sure I ended up exposing again both of my girls in their entire glory. The sudden movement and barely audible gasp caused a couple of men at the neighboring tables to look at me.

I don't think they could see under the table, although it was possible, but they got a nice view of my naked girls. Apparently, men of any age cannot resist free peeks, live, of a woman's boobs. God, I was embarrassed.

Mike's fingers were now quite active. This was not my idea of how Mike would eventually get to know my pussy; far from it! But I had to admit that it was far hotter than anything I had imagined. He was pushing me close to an orgasm, and I was resisting it mightily, as I knew a lot of the other diners knew exactly what was going on. I would be embarrassed beyond belief if I were to have an orgasm in public, in a fancy restaurant, no less!

The waiters saved me as they brought over our food. It was hidden under large silver domes, and all I could think was that the food was hidden better than were my charms. Mike stopped fingering me. The distraction of the lifting of the silver domes, to reveal the works of art that were to be our dinners, was most welcome.

The domes were lifted simultaneously. I was fantasizing that the two domes were covering our privates, and the two men were lifting them and exposing us to each other. Seeing the food brought me back to reality, and smelling it was heavenly. I was already drunk from the two martinis, and now I had a glass of liquid velvet, which was an amazingly good white wine.

Mike dove into his food, but I ate it slowly, daintily, enjoying each magical taste as if I would never have a meal this good again for the rest of my life. The food was so good, and so elegantly prepared and served, that this was easy for me to imagine. One does not rush through the best meal of one's life.

Mike finished long before me, as I was savoring every bite of this food from heaven. I had eaten enough, so I offered the rest of my generous portion of branzino to Mike. This was a smart move. Men love it when a woman lets them finish her meal.

Of course, you might think I already had done enough to ensnare Mike, practically going topless at his demand at the restaurant, and letting him publicly finger me under the table. But that appealed to his need to control women. It appealed to his lust, to his macho side by showing off his woman, and to his power over her.

Now I was conquering the last frontier: the battle for his stomach. It is classic that it is almost as important an area to a man as is his cock. I ended up giving him most of my dessert, too. It was delicious, but I wanted to win Mike more than I wanted my entire dessert.

We were now done with our meal, and Billie Jean must have been watching, because she came to our table with her "little old sugar daddy" in tow. His name was Adolphus, but fortunately, since that was a mouthful for me, he went by Al. They pulled up two chairs and joined us and Billie Jean signaled the waiter.

I was now in between Al and Mike, and Billie Jean was facing me. The waiter brought over the list of after dinner drinks, called 'digestifs,' and Mike and Al discussed their merits. As they talked, Billie Jean winked at me. I smiled back at her. She nodded her head towards my sweater. I Iooked down and saw I was sitting in a way that was exposing the girls. I subtly closed the sweater a bit. I had to be subtle so that Mike did not notice.

The men settled on a 10-year-old Bas Armagnac, and four glasses were brought to the table. I could smell the Armagnac from yards away as it came to our table. Wow, I silently thought. We all toasted friendship and drank. It burned going down my throat, but it was a good burn.

After a few sips, both of Mike's hands went below the table, one of them landing, once again, on my bare thigh. Another hand, larger and less calloused then the hand of Mike, went on my other thigh, the one next to Al. All four of the men's hands were now under the table, and Billie Jean was squirming a bit.

Jesus, I thought, were the men simultaneously feeling both of us up down there? With Billie Jean, maybe they were, and maybe they were not. There was no way for me to tell. But there was no question what was going on with my thighs. No question at all. I put down my hands to stop them, and Mike once again commanded, "Hands on the table, Nancy." He said Nancy, and not 'babe' or 'baby' as before, probably so as not to confuse Billie jean, I guessed.

Billie Jean looked at me. Doubtless she saw the anxiety in my eyes. She raised her eyebrows. She shrugged, and then she gave a little start and involuntarily exclaimed, "Oh!" Happily, her exclamation of surprise was with a subdued voice. This was followed by the near identical reaction by me, as both of the men's hands found my snatch at the same time.

Al looked at me with surprise. I suspect he had expected to find panties. He gave me a big smile. As the men fingered both Billie Jean and myself, Billie Jean raised her glass. I raised mine, and we quietly sipped the Armagnac. The more I drank, the better it tasted.

I was incredulous. I was half naked, being fingered by two men at the same time under the table in one of the fanciest restaurants in New York. One man had fingers inside me, and the other man devoted his attention to my clitoris. This was crazy. I was about to put an end to this, Mike's controlling desires be damned, when Mike (I think it was Mike) found my g spot, and I lost it.

I did not scream or anything, thank God, but I think it was obvious to anyone watching (and at this point quite a few other diners were watching) that I had cum. Mike mercifully withdrew his fingers and brought his Bas Armagnac to his lips, drinking lustily, while gazing into my eyes, and checking out my boobs yet again.