Chapter 15 Tart, Twenty-Six, and Never Been Kissed
Chapter 15 - Tart, Twenty-Six, and Never Been Kissed
"The night's too young to go home already," Billie Jo offered.
"Where do you suppose we should go?" Kelly asked with overdone
innocence.
"Oh, I don't know, just cruise around I suppose," Billie Jo
answered.
"What do you two have cooked up now?" I demanded. Billie Jo
clearly had a destination in mind. She had driven directly to an
entrance ramp and was now sliding through traffic on the freeway.
"She doesn't trust us," Billie Jo lamented, smiling through
her fake concern.
"No," Kelly agreed, "she's had a suspicious mind ever since
I've known her. I can't imagine why."
"Okay, you two. I'll go anywhere you'll go with me," I
declared, taking up the challenge inherent in their words.
"Promises, promises," Kelly laughed.
In a few minutes we left the freeway and were soon pulling
into the parking lot of a nightclub featuring male strippers. Though
I thought I had achieved a full commitment to Brandy, I found that I
could still be embarrassed. My blush as I recognized our destination
provided a fiery reminder of my earlier sensitivity to looking female.
Just how much would I have to act like a female tonight? I wondered.
Even the waiters in this place were good-looking and the
hunting look was soon back in Billie Jo's eyes. We were escorted to a
table fairly close to the elevated stage and ordered a round of
drinks. All around us were giggling, nervous women, most of whom were
older and less attractive than our party, but all seemed determined to
have a good time. In an acceptably short while the lights went down
which caused an expectant hush to fall over the crowd. When the
lights came up, there were a half dozen cowboys on the stage, dressed
in long coats with hats pulled down over their eyes.
From somewhere, hard driving rock music began and the cowboys
began to move to the music. At the first pelvic thrust, a woman
somewhere hooted and the audience came to life, then laughing,
whistling, cheering women from all sides called to the dancers with
encouragements of all sort. Soon the cowboys were tossing hats and
pulling loose bandanas. I was not surprised to notice that Kelly was
cheering as enthusiastically as the rest, since she had always been so
open and excitable. I was surprised to hear Billie Jo shouting as
well, though in her case it didn't seem like a request.
I felt a tap on my shoulder and turned to see a tall
motorcycle cop looking down on me.
"Miss Brandy Dewinter?" he asked.
"Yes," I stammered in confusion, my heart caught in my throat.
I know I should have realized immediately what was going on, but my
fear at getting "caught in the act" was still very near the surface
and the appearance of this authority figure was enough to put my
higher reasoning powers on hold as panic set in.
"Do you have any ID?" his questions continued.
"Yes," I mumbled again as I started going through my purse for
my new driver's license, trying to remember where I put it. My long
nails kept getting in the way, making me fumble like an idiot.
Finally I found the pocketbook it was in and held it up to him.
"Hmm," he mused as he returned it to me. "Would you read for
me the birthday that is shown on that license?"
I almost gave out my real birthday in reflex, but I was
finally coming out of my shock. This cop had on large aviator
sunglasses though the room was fairly dark except on the stage. He
probably couldn't have read my ID or birthday if he needed to. That
must have been the first clue that something was not right in this
situation. I looked at Kelly, who still had her patented innocent
expression, then at Billie Jo who was choking to contain her laughter.
Looking at my license with sick certainty, I saw that the birthday was
that very day, of course.
"You set me up!" I accused Kelly.
She nodded happily.
"And you knew about it," I glared at Billie Jo.
Too choked to speak, she could only nod as well.
"Ma'am," the pseudo-cop said, "you'll have to come with me."
With that, he gently but firmly grasped my arms, stood me up,
and turned me around, facing our little table. He bent me forward
over the table and pulled my hands behind me. In a second, I felt
handcuffs click and my arms were securely bound. All I could think of
was Kelly's admonition the first time I had gone out as Brandy to sit
carefully and not bend over. The cop had me bent far over the table
and I could feel the hem of my dangerously short skirt clearly
exposing creamy thigh above the tops of my stockings. I didn't think
the rest of my secrets were exposed, but it must have been close.
After my arms were secured the cop helped me straighten up and started
to lead me away. My glare at Kelly was almost real, but then I
decided to overcome this obstacle with style and began to exaggerate
my already-pronounced hip swing. The cop took me through a side door
and we were backstage.
"Ma'am," he said, "you're going to be the target of my act
tonight. If you'll be a good sport and play along, I'll take you back
to the dressing room later and let you meet the dancers. I'm not
allowed to touch you any place except on your arms, so you don't need
to worry, but I will pretend to, if that's all right with you."
I looked at him with arched eyebrow, considering his proposal.
I knew I'd go along. Kelly and Billie Jo had worked too hard to set
this up, but I decided I could negotiate a little.
"First," I demanded, "stop calling me ma'am. That sounds like
an old woman. Do I look like an old woman to you?" I thrust my
(artificially-enhanced) tits at him and struck a pose with my hips.
I could see a blush even in the part of his face not covered
by his sunglasses and helmet as he shook his head.
"No, ma'am, I mean miss . . ." he stammered.
"Brandy," I offered, "call me Brandy."
He nodded in silent consent.
"Second," I continued, "you need to bring my friends back as
well. They get to meet your dancers, too."
He nodded again.
"Third, I'll go along with your act, but I'm not easy. I'm
going to start out hard to get. If you're good enough, you might find
me more willing by the end of the act. How long are you on for?"
"About five minutes," he answered with a smile, "do you have
any other conditions?"
"Just one, for now, you have to tell me your name."
"Henry," he admitted. "But the guys call me Hank," he added
quickly.
"And the girls call you 'Hunk', don't they?" I laughed. His
flush returned in confirmation of this obvious conclusion.
"Lead on, Officer Hunk, I'm your captive. Let's see what
you're made of."
The music for the first act was ending and the cowboy dancers
filed off the stage, having shed the long drover's coats along with
most of the rest of their clothes. Hank grabbed up a stool and took
me out onto the vacated stage before the audience of cheering women.
I pretended to be angry, tossing my hair and struggling. The
handcuffs forced my shoulders back and my tits forward so I waved them
around like flags. I let my swinging hip bump against his leg, which
caused a glance from Hank as he tried to move out of the way. He put
the stool down on the stage and sat me carefully down on it but I
wasn't able to pull the hem of my skirt into place and could tell a
bit of hip was showing above my stockings. As long as it's not what's
between my legs, I prayed.
Another driving rock rhythm began and Hank began to strut
around the stage. From somewhere a voice came over the speakers. It
wasn't Hank's voice but he acted as though he were speaking.
"This woman has been charged with impersonating a younger
lady. Today is her birthday and she's a year older than she has been.
In her defense, she maintains that she is still as hot and exciting as
any younger woman. I intend to find out if that is true."
With that the music came up and he began his dance. He pulled
off one of his gloves and dropped it in my lap, reaching with his bare
hand as though to caress my cheek. I bit at his hand with my teeth,
just missing a mouthful. He pulled his hand back as though I had
truly bitten it, giving me a quizzical look. His next glove was
thrown somewhere into the crowd, provoking squeals which overrode the
music for an instant. His helmet was removed next and placed on the
stage where it provided an anchor for the next several movements of
his dance. He pulled his jacket off and danced back to me, trailing
it behind him. When he reached me this time his hands moved as though
to cup my breasts. I shied away, really worried about a too-detailed
examination. However, true to his earlier promise, he did not
actually touch me. More confident, now, I resolved to begin to play
into his act.
He danced back and reached for the collar of his shirt. In
one abrupt jerk, he pulled the special stripper-shirt off, revealing a
clean-shaven chest shining with oil. This brought peals of laughter
and offers from the crowd of women. I let myself stare at his chest,
slowly licking my shining lips as though unconsciously. His eyes
widened at this sign if interest, and he danced closer again. This
time, when he reached for my breasts instead of shying away I arched
toward his touch, again as though it were an unconscious reflex though
I allowed the handcuffs to keep me from moving too much. His eyes
widened again and I noticed a smile in them that the audience probably
couldn't see.
As he danced away, I noticed that he was breathing heavily by
now, muscular chest heaving. I expected it was due to the exertions
of his energetic dance, but it worked to give an expression of
building passion. I let my own breathing become more visible, as
though panting myself. My tight corset, as always, made any increase
in depth of breath very noticeable. By this time he had danced back
to the other edge of the stage, then reached to his waist and pulled
off his pants with a flourish nicely-timed to the beat of the music.
I gasped along with the rest of the crowd, though in my case it was
because the bulging g-string he wore was a near duplicate of the thong
tightly constricting my own hidden bulge. Now I let my mouth open
slightly, breathing harder than ever. I licked my lips again and let
the tip of my tongue catch in my teeth, showing delicately.
I began to realize that my pretend passion had awakened a real
desire. I wasn't really interested in this dancing stud, but my own
cock began to send complaints at the tightness of its constriction.
At some level, his clean-shaven, muscular dancer's body was so alive
with animal energy that it created a response even in me. The effect
on the women in the audience was fantastic. Their cheers were
continuous now, overcoming the music. Hank danced toward me one more
time, pausing to turn and wiggle his nearly-nude buns at me which
provoked gales of laughter from the crowd. I let my mouth open more
fully, breathing hard. As he reached out with both hands to cup my
face (still never quite touching) he pulsed his hips toward me. His
motion implied that he might capture my face and bring it to his
pounding crotch. Instead of drawing away, I moved my face toward his
hands, pursing my lips in an attempt to kiss his palm. When my mouth
was hidden by his hands, I quickly flicked my tongue out and licked
his palm, causing a jerk in his body that was not quite in time to the
music. It was impossible to tell whether the flush on his face and
heavy breathing were due to sexual excitement or just the exertions of
his dance, but the pulse I could see in his pouch was unmistakable.
He was no longer dancing just for his act, he was dancing for me,
feeding on the energy of my excitement to increase his own. His hands
swayed downward over my body, looking as though he were caressing me
from neck to waist, not avoiding any obstacles in between. I arched
erotically into his touch, throwing my head back and sending waves
flowing through my silken tresses. Hank began dancing over my legs,
spreading his own to straddle my thighs. He ran his hands more
quickly up and down my body, building to match the climax in the
music. I began to pulse toward him, arching as though I were shaken
by orgasm. Just as it seemed his bulging pouch would be thrust into
my navel, the music climaxed and the lights went out.
He quickly moved back and gathered his clothes in the dark,
familiar with his own routine. In another second he was helping me to
my feet and taking me backstage. We barely beat the lights as they
came back on, but all that remained on stage was the stool, silent
reminder of a bound woman now carried off into mystery. The crowd of
women exploded into applause. I expected there were more than a few
pairs of damp panties out there, and many women jealous of me at that
moment.
No sooner had the door closed behind us then Hank dropped what
was in his hands and spun me to face him. He surprised me and
provoked a quick gasp, which enhanced an opportunity he was determined
to achieve. While my mouth was still slightly parted from my gasp, he
assailed my lips with a powerful kiss. His tongue followed his lips
within an instant and was immediately probing deep into my mouth. I
had become excited during his dance in spite of myself, and my
immediate response was to be responsive. By the time I remembered
that I was kissing a man I was already thoroughly involved. Damn he
was a good kisser! His lips captured me powerfully but not abusively,
and his passion was undeniable. I would have to remember that
technique. From somewhere I seemed to hear some announcement about a
short pause in the entertainment, though I wasn't really paying
attention. After I time interval I could not really have identified,
he stepped back.
"Oh, I'm sorry!" he exclaimed.
I allowed a pout to form on my ruby lips. "I don't usually
get complaints from my kisses," I whimpered in pretended distress.
He blushed furiously. "No! I didn't mean that. It's just
that I can get fired for touching you, let alone kissing you, but you
are so HOT! I couldn't help myself."
I allowed my pout to retract about half way. "Well, that's
not a bad apology. . . for a start."
I shrugged my shoulders to remind him my wrists were still
bound in the handcuffs. He fumbled through his clothes for the key
(he was clearly not carrying one in his g-string) and in another
minute my arms were free. I moved closer to him and placed one finger
on his lips.
"Never apologize, mister, it's a sign of weakness," I grinned
with the reference to the old John Wayne movie. "I may get you fired
for regretting you kissed me, and I will certainly try if you ever
call me ma'am again, but I won't breathe a word about our kiss to
anyone if it would get you in trouble."
His arms went back around my waist, this time with a little
pause as he realized that I was wearing an interesting corset he had
not noticed when his passionate embrace had surrounded my bound arms.
I could tell he was about to move in for a rematch and was wondering
how I would react when a side door opened and a waiter brought Kelly
and Billie Jo backstage. Hank sprang back at the motion and he began
to gather up his stuff again. I coughed slightly to get his attention
and moved a finger across my lips, indicating he should wipe my
lipstick off his mouth. By this time Kelly and Billie Jo had seen us
and moved our way as he quickly wiped his face.
"What's gotten into you?" Kelly demanded in a sharp whisper.
"Tell you later," I stalled in an answering soft tone.
"This is 'Hunk'," I announced to my companions with a chuckle,
"though he tells me the guys call him Hank."
"Hunk is right," Kelly gushed. "I have never seen such a
powerful, sexy dance."
Billie Jo said nothing, though the gleam in her eyes showed
her agreement with that assessment.
"I never had either," Hank replied, "but, then, I never did it
with Brandy before."
This time it was my turn to blush. Kelly and Billie Jo
noticed and chuckled softly at my discomfort.
"Brandy's never done it before, either," Kelly commented in
bland innocence, though fully aware of the double meaning.
Hank led us to the dressing room. The cowboys were there, now
getting ready for the next group number where they would be lifeguards
at a beach. Their thin swim trunks left little to the imagination.
As Hank escorted us in, the men started hooting and catcalling.
"Oh, Mama, you can dance with me anytime!
"Do you move as well when you're not wearing handcuffs?"
I put my hands on my hips and gave a few sensuous circles, as
though doing a traditional bump and grind. By this time, Kelly and
Billie Jo had filed into the room behind us and quickly joined the
act, providing our own line of long-legged dancers. The hoots and
cheers echoed those in the main show room and I heard offers flooding
in from all sides.
A heavily-muscled dancer with extreme definition in the ridges
of his body called out, "I've died and gone to heaven and the angels
are coming for me."
I swayed over to him and lightly held his chin up on one
long-nailed finger. "No," I disagreed, "you might find Kelly in
heaven, she truly is an angel, and Billie Jo hasn't made up her mind,
yet. But if you're looking for me you'll have to go where the sins
are a lot more fun than heaven allows."
This brought a fresh chorus of cheers and offers. I grinned
at the most impressive stud patrol I had ever seen and sashayed back
to where Kelly and Billie Jo stood, giving an extra little hip dip on
the way. Kelly's mouth was sagging in disbelief, though whether at my
actions or at the ton of prime beef in the room I couldn't tell.
Looking at Billie Jo, though, I saw an expression of naked need in her
eyes. She had passed beyond want for a man and was now hungry in a
way I could not have believed would ever show in her.
I whispered to her, "Pick one out. At this point, you can
probably have your choice."
At least this brought her back to the real world, and a blush
made a subtle change in the heat coloring her cheeks. She was clearly
fascinated by the rock-hard muscle definition in the man I had spoken
to. It seemed her current desire was for the most masculine-looking
guy she could find and she had found a spectacular example. I grabbed
her by the arm and pulled her back to stud who interested her.
"Billie Jo, I would like you to meet . . . ," I paused, never
having gotten his name.
"Rod," he responded.
"I'm sure you are," I giggled. "Billie Jo is just fascinated
with your . . . . smile."
She blushed at my claim, but instead of denying it, she
dropped her head. In just a second or two, however, she was looking
at Rod through her lashes and I recognized the proven techniques of
female seduction at work. A tall blond man with an open, smiling face
had appeared at Kelly's side from wherever those types are fabricated.
She always did attract the nice guys. That left me with over a half a
ton of prime beefcake and no idea what to do next. I really didn't
want to go beyond flirting with these guys, but I didn't want my own
limits to hold down Billie Jo. I also wasn't sure about what I wanted
for Kelly. I decided to bring Billie Jo's decision to a head.
"Billie Jo, can I have the keys to your car? I think I left
something in it."
She looked at me in surprise, since she knew I hadn't left
anything in it. Then she realized what I was doing and began to
fumble in her purse. Her own long nails frustrated her but she found
her key ring and gave it to me. Kelly had brought my own purse. I
took it and dropped the keys inside.
"There," I said, "now you don't have to worry about us and
your car. If we need something, we can handle it."
Rod said, "Billie Jo, if you don't mind staying until the show
is over, I'll be glad to take you home."
"Hers or yours," I teased.
Billie Jo blushed when Rod's only answer was an eyebrow raised
in her direction.
I grabbed Billie Jo's arm and then extracted Kelly from the
attentions of her latest blond hunk. Waving gaily we left the
dressing room to make it back to our table for the rest of the show
where we found a note on the table from the manager, offering me a job
if I wanted to repeat my performance. I smiled and showed it to
Kelly, but then put it in my purse.
"Interested?" Kelly asked.
"No," I replied. "It was fun once, but I'm not sure I could
repeat it."
"You know," I continued, "you guys set me up. I'm not
sweet-sixteen-and-never-been-kissed, but now I guess I qualify as a
twenty-six year old tart."
"What about the never-been-kissed part?" Kelly asked,
understanding dawning in her eyes.
"Old Hunk took care of that right well, thank you," I
drawled. "That's one of the reasons I had to get out of the dressing
room. I was afraid he or one of his friend would want a repeat
performance, and I wasn't sure what I would do."
"What would you do?" Kelly demanded with a laugh.
"I really don't know. He surprised me and I was halfway
through the kiss before I realized what was going on. By then, I was
all the way into it. I must admit I enjoyed it."
"Well, Brandy, we may just have to arrange that repeat
performance."
Shaking my head at her comment, I felt myself wondering what I
really wanted. When the show was over, a waiter came to invite us
backstage again. I held back, but urged Billie Jo to go.
"I'm sure Rod's waiting for you and you know enough about
where he works and everything to be reasonably safe. Go for it!"
She gulped, but her need was plain on her face and I knew she
was already convinced.
"We'll get home ourselves, in your car. Make him give you a
good ride."
"Now, remember what I taught you," Kelly giggled as she
straightened out Billie Jo's blouse.
Billie Jo went with the waiter and we headed for home. Though we sat
out in our nightgowns for a long while, we never did see her return.
The next morning we were getting ready to go see if she was okay when
we heard a car drive up. Running to the window, we saw her get out.
She seemed to be moving a bit stiffly, but she turned back to the car
and dove in for a long, lingering kiss before getting out once again
and going into her house. We decided she must have been happy with
her evening, but that she could probably use some rest so we left her
alone that day.
