Hen-do Happening

Decision time, I was going to wear quite a clingy dress in a deep midnight blue, quite a low back and enough of a low cut front to prove that I still had nice boobs at 31 but I either had to wear a tiny gossamer like thong or big support pants or I would have knicker lines showing across my bum, or of course I could go commando, but as it was a girls night I didn’t see the point in the tiny sexy pair or the no pants option. Maybe if it was date night with my husband, I’d be more inclined to go down the sex goddess route but as it was Kimmy’s hen night, I was keeping it comfortable down below. Big pants it was.

Kimmy and I worked together ten or more years ago, I’d been one of the graduate trainees in the Bristol office of Independent News Radio’s news room, she’d been the traffic-and-weather-together girl from 6am to 3pm. We had ambitions of getting a show together, ‘Walsh and Scott Investigate’ combining a weekly local investigation with some of the quirkier news stories around Bristol and the West country. Of course when INR were bought by London based Reportage News Media and closed down we were both out of work, Kimmy ended up working for Western FM, a MOR Rock / Country and Western station broadcasting to Wiltshire and the West, where she was back doing traffic reports on the M4 contraflow and warning us all to take our umbrellas or factor thirty depending on the time of year.

I hadn’t been lucky enough to get another job locally in journalism or radio, being a graduate trainee meant very little experience and zero contacts. To be fair to Reportage they offered me a role in their Manchester office, but Chris and I were planning our wedding at the time, well I was planning it, he was just agreeing with me, and Manchester was right out of the question. I took my degree in journalism down to Bristol Hospital and applied to retrain as a Nurse, that was six years ago, I’d been qualified for three and was loving it, I worked on a men’s surgical ward dealing with day case patients so it was generally Monday to Friday stuff with the occasional extra shifts when we needed some spare cash, although Chris’s IT consultancy was picking up nicely and he was bringing home enough bacon that we’d moved out of his tiny one bed flat into a lovely three bedroomed Victorian town house in Easton.

I pulled my big pants on, adding a little sex appeal with a pair of sheer tights, lined up the back to look like seamed stockings and a pair of four-inch heeled Gina shoes I’d found in a charity shop several years ago for a fraction of their new price. To be honest they didn’t often get taken outside of the bedroom, so this was a bit of an event for them.

Chris was doing the “I’ve been ready to go out for ages since you said let’s go” dance in the hallway, he was going to drop me off in town, then go and meet a few of his mates from the Rugby Club for an evening watching the British and Irish Lions in Australia, he’d told me all about it but I’d not really been paying attention so while I knew Buddha, Shadow and Bold Sir Robin were going along, otherwise known as Gary, Pete and Simon, I didn’t really know where they were going but I was prepared to bet Curry lay in his future.

I tottered across the footpath and into the passenger seat of his Volvo estate. It wasn’t the most exciting car in the world, but it gave a professional, not flashy image to his clients and could be loaded up with boxes of cable and loads of computer stuff that I didn’t really understand. He’d use words that sounded English but, in a context, and order that may as well have been Hungarian. “Layer Three Switch” and “RAID Server” were two I could remember but don’t ask me what they were. Lots of lights and a loud hum when he soak tested them in our living room. I also have no idea what a soak test is and how you pass or fail one.

The diesel engine cranked over, and we were away, it was a fifteen-minute journey across town to the former dockside that had been refurbished as an entertainment and leisure area, old warehouses were now bars, nightclubs and restaurants ranging from generic multinational chains to local more specialist bistro style places. I was meeting the girls in Rattigan’s, a former Victorian flour merchant’s building recently converted from a stainless steel and glass trendy bar into er another stainless steel and glass trendy bar. Chris let me out with a kiss and an instruction not to talk to any strange men, unless they bought me a drink first.

“They’d have to try hard to be stranger than you, mister” I told him as I kissed him on his way.

“We should be done by eleven, I’ll call you when we’ve all trapped off and you can drive me and my strange man home.”

He disappeared into the warm evening traffic with a chuckle and a wave and a promise to be with me in ten minutes when I called, which I upgraded mentally to twenty as I walked in and looked around. Our gang didn’t take much identifying, they’ll be the ones with matching pink cowboy hats and an inflatable banana. Girding my loins for some enforced jollity and group laughter, then pausing to consider whether as a girl I could gird my loins, I walked over and joined in a round of air kisses and hugs as I caught up with a dozen girls, women really, that Kimmy and I had worked with at Independent News Radio.

My initial cynicism evaporated in moments, it was genuinely great to catch up with them all, I found myself squeezed in next to Rachel who had been my boss and mentor in the newsroom, she was now working in the London office for CNN, we hadn’t spoken since that tearful day the office closed for the last time and we all got horribly drunk on Reportage’s expense account. She asked me where I was working and seemed a bit too pleased to hear I was nursing now, not in media or newsgathering.

“I think we both know it never really suited you did it Coco? You wanted to jump straight in as Washington correspondent for Reuters and weren’t happy with the groundwork delving into council planning meeting minutes and local politicians pointing at fly tipping. I bet you’re a lot happier now.”

I paused and reminded her I stopped being called Coco thirteen years ago and then reminded her that yes I was married and no it wasn’t to Dan, although well remembered, he’d been my boyfriend a long time ago. The lying cheating piece of shite.

It was an interesting dynamic being in a fairly large group of women, by the time all comers had arrived there were close on thirty of us ranging in age from eighteen to over fifty, Kimmy was at the latter end of her thirties and the eighteen-year-old was her daughter from her first marriage. Being eighteen she and the two or three friends she was with were dressed like they were auditioning as pole dancers, but were not planning on sticking round long enough for us to cramp their style.

What was interesting was that at 31 if I went into a bar alone or with a girlfriend I still got hit on as much as I did when I was eighteen, same sort of range of ages, same dodgy lines. Having the over fifty contingent was like having an exclusion zone around our group, I walked up to the bar to get a long island iced tea for old times’ sake and once I was ten feet or so from the table I found the usual invitations to join different groups of single blokes, while I was at the bar I was “mistaken” for someone’s friend’s sister and it was really great to see me again, on the way back once I was within our exclusion zone it was like I disappeared.

I leaned over to Wendy, one of the older girls and asked “Is this what it’s like? Get beyond childbearing age and you can go for a drink without being accosted every step of the way?” She nodded sagely, “Once you get your first hot flush it’s like you’re invisible in a place like this. Mind you, go to the golf club and it must be like being a Gogo dancer on a concert party for the troops in Afghanistan, you’re suddenly the centre of attention again. My Husband wonders why I like going to the clubhouse despite hating golf, the ridiculous thing about it is that even at seventy they can’t come up with a better line than ‘There you are, now for my other two wishes’ or ‘Do you like cats because I’m feline good about you'”

We both laughed at the shallow nature and predictability of the opposite sex. “I always liked ‘Did you swallow a magnet, because you’re very attractive’ but I don’t think one’s ever worked. I may get my husband to take up Golf in about twenty years’ time”

The younger crowd reached a point in the evening where they wanted more attention and announced they were off to Steeples, a nightclub in a converted ex-church. I’d been in there once, I really liked how they’d kept things like the stone pulpit as the DJ’s standpoint and how there was a raised stage where the altar used to be, although the four stainless steel poles were probably a bit close to blasphemous if you were of a religious persuasion. Also, I doubted whether architectural admiration was high on the list of most visitor’s priorities.

Their departure signalled our time to move on as well, Millie, a forty-year-old suicide blonde bulging out of a very short strapless dress in peacock blue with matching stripper heels was our mistress of ceremonies and Bridesmaid in chief, and did a very good sheepdog impression, rounding us all up and issuing instructions about our next destination. We had a buffet meal laid on in a private room in another bar, to my slight disquiet we were all headed off to ‘Urban Tiger’, a lap dancing club a few hundred metres away. I don’t know a huge amount about lap dancing clubs, but I wouldn’t expect catering to be top of their attractions.

On the walk round I took the opportunity to quiz Millie about the venue and the thinking behind it, when she explained I could see the logic in theory, if not in practice.

“It’s free for women to get in, everywhere else wanted to charge us a £10 cover charge per person before 9pm or £20 after, we save at least three hundred quid which I put behind the bar on our tab so we can drink most of the evening on what we’ve already paid. The room was the same as anywhere else and they did a deal on the rest of the evening’s costs, they have a tie in with Llana Thai for the food.”

Feeling slightly less concerned, not least because I absolutely adore Llana Thai’s food, and having already dropped a hundred pounds on the night I was pleased to hear the drinks bill was partially covered, I joined the queue to get in. Millie bustled to the front and got the duty manager out to come and greet us, a pair of burly security men then escorted us through the dimly lit interior to a set of double doors marked ‘VIP Private’ where they set themselves up outside the doors.

The Double doors led into a room with a dozen or so tables set out with six settings on each, a buffet table ran along one wall with a raised stage featuring six shiny floor to ceiling poles along the other. The opposite end of the room had a private bar staffed by two muscly younger men wearing bowties and tight black lycra shorts. That was it, no shirts, just the bowtie and the shorts. And by the looks of it Baby oil.

Once we were all seated a tall, skinny, surgically enhanced blonde in what looked like a sparkly purple swimsuit, cut very high at the hip and very narrow at the crotch, with a black tailcoat, top hat and flesh toned leggings stepped out. Her outfit was set off with a pair of knee length spike heeled shiny boots.

She climbed up onto the stage and walked down to the centre where it jutted out into the room by about ten feet where she stopped, the object of all our attention. “Good evening ladies, my name is Charmaine, I will be your entertainments manager this evening. Behind the bar are Riccardo and Joshua, they are here to serve you (That got a predictably loud cheer) and outside the room are Chas and Mel who are here to keep uninvited guests out.”

She then went into air hostess mode pointing out where the loos were and where the emergency exit was in the unlikely event of blah blah. She also gave what I suppose is a standard warning about not touching the bar staff or performers unless invited. The Performers bit got me a bit nervous, but I told myself it was a Hen do after all and to get with the program. Charmaine was still talking, I tuned back in just in time to hear her announce “and when everyone’s here we’ll get some of the girls out in about thirty minutes to give you an hour’s tuition, something to take home for that special man, or men (another loud cheer) in your lives.”

So, pole dancing lessons then. Oh goody. I looked across the room to judge the overall mood, it seemed to range from resigned acceptance, which was where I found myself, to abject horror from Wendy to frothing eagerness from Millie. Going round the table I knew all of the girls I was sitting with, three from other nights out two from my time at INR. Jill, one of the INR girls, and I went to the bar together on the basis that more booze was likely to add to the chances of enjoying the occasion, and grabbed a couple of bottles of Prosecco, which at twenty quid a bottle was only overpriced, not ridiculously overpriced.

The Thai buffet was surprisingly good, well up to Llana Thai’s normal standards and once we’d all eaten and the remaining twenty or so of the party had arrived Charmaine came back up on stage, but this time she had company with half a dozen heavily made-up pouting dancers strutting behind her in tasselled white leatherette bikinis and heeled boots. “I need six volunteers girls, who’s going to be first? Who wants to learn to do this?” she pointed behind her and on cue the magnificent six as no one was calling them, grabbed a pole each and spun round upside down, gripping with one leg and one arm. It was, to be fair, an impressive movement and quite well choreographed. They did another twist and turn and were all facing the same way, right way up this time, again it was an impressive movement, but I wasn’t about to get up there.

Unsurprisingly Millie was straight up, dragging the bride-to-be with her along with two others from their table. Charmaine turned her laser like vision on and soon had all spots filled. The “lesson” didn’t go into too much gyration, starting with holding the pole in a sexy manner, humping it rhythmically then crouching down and standing up again. They moved onto bending forward ninety degrees at the hips, thrashing their hair around and cupping their boobs to give even the most flat chested a serious cleavage.

They took about twenty minutes to run the volunteers through a basic routine, then they pulled six more up and started all over again, this time they pushed the routine a bit further and by the time they finished there were five women in their best M & S bras and one who’d gone unfettered standing holding the pole topless. To give her her due she was trying very hard to own it and got an almighty cheer when she took her top off.

The final six up were almost indecently keen to get stripped off, finishing the routine in their knickers and heels, mainly very small thongs with two pairs of sexy lacy boy shorts. I was still comfortable with my choice of big pants.

More prosecco was delivered to each table and after all the girls had most of their clothes back on Millie stood up and banged a bottle on the table. “Attention please ladies. We’re all here because we all love Kimmy, and we all want to make this evening memorable for her. Well, to help do that I’ll hand back to Charmaine who will talk us through the next stage of the evening.”

Charmaine strutted into the middle of the stage again. “Good evening ladies, Kimmy’s getting married, and we think she needs some advice on how to keep her man happy.” The six dancers were circling the main part of the room dropping diamante decorated bags on each table. “Inside the bag you’ll find a few surprises, get ’em out girls. No Sharon, not like that.”

Wendy was on my table and upended the bag in the middle, releasing a jelly dildo with a suction pad on the end, a can of spray cream, a bottle of chocolate sauce and some hundreds and thousands.

Charmaine continued “Prize for the most delicious decoration, get started girls.”

My heart sank, this was the sort of enforced Ann Summers party type jollity I had been dreading, I had the chocolate sauce bottle thrust into my hand and gave a half-hearted squeeze, spurting brown sweet stickiness across my hand and the quivering sex toy, staining the spray cream coat. I got the inevitable crack about cumming too soon and with an enforced delight I licked my hand clean in what I hoped was a sexually voracious manner.

Ten minutes later and the announcement came from the stage “Times up girls, let’s see what you’ve got. No Sharon, not like that” A spotlight cut through the darkness and highlighted the table furthest away, their dildo was no better or worse than ours, as were most of the others. Kimmy’s table seemed the most lavishly decorated but being the bride to be and the organiser’s table I wasn’t surprised to see they had a much wider range of decorations, marshmallows, candied cherries and crunchie pieces all covered the creamy smeared plastic sex toy. I joined in the cheering and whooping as Charmaine declared them the outright winners. Their prize was a second diamante bag that contained a small bullet vibrator each. Much giggling and excitement ensued, with a couple disappearing under skirts while the owners gasped in excitement. Looking at the flushed faces I wondered if perhaps I might do some online shopping, but I’ve always had a very satisfying sex life and never felt the inclination to try an artificial enhancer.

Charmaine was back centre stage. “Right girls now let’s show Kimmy how to clean it all up. Get going with two on it. OK Sharon, like that if you want.” Around the room each table had two women licking at their mounds of cream and sauce, some were making a right mess, dripping over their cleavages and smearing cam and chocolate over their faces. One, I presume Sharon, had her top off and was grubbing her tits up and down the dildo, she must have wiped away or eaten all the decoration first because there was no sign of it. After ten minutes simulated oral sex Charmaine decided a different table had won and dumped another bag of vibrators for them to share out.

“Now girls, I hope you’re ready because we’ve got the main event for you, please welcome…..,The Ladykillers” the lights went out, plunging the room into total darkness. A clumping of soft soled shoes came from the stage. The opening bars of ‘Eye of the Tiger’ shattered the silence and six spotlights lit up six lithe, ripped and it has to be said very good-looking guys in boxing shorts, silky dressing gowns and little else holding a pole each.

Despite my reservations I found myself howling along with the other girls as the six went through their routine, by the end of the first track they’d all lost their dressing gowns and were standing, glistening in their silky shorts, each one had their name embroidered across the backside. Rocky, Boner, Roger, Nobby, Banger and Shaft, this last one in what I hope was an ironic nod to seventies blaxpoitation movies was black. To be honest I don’t think they were their real names, but I didn’t really care, I wasn’t interested in a conversation, I was surprisingly interested in grabbing the firm, tight buttocks of Rocky or Shaft, they being the closest to us.

Next track was Hey Hey Baby, which allowed a lot of thrusting and pointing on the “Ooh..Ah” lyrics, and by the end of that track they were in glossy red speedoes, which did nothing to reduce my desire to grab a hand full of buttocks. They were spinning round the poles now as well, demonstrating just how flexible they were, which was dragging a lot of dark thoughts from my subconscious, thoughts I would not be proud of in the cold light of day but three quarters of a bottle of Prosecco and two Long Island Iced Teas said otherwise right now.

Track three was Honky Tonk Women and by crikey they moved well to it, sensuality had never been a word I’d associate with men before but this lot, whhhooooooeeee. It must have been getting warm, I was sweating, and I don’t think I was the only one. At the end of the track the speedoes came apart, Velcro I imagine, I didn’t really care, and they were left in black leather look thongs. Not a look I’ve ever considered attractive on a man before but the way it defined their bums, my palms were aching to grip on and take a chunk out of them. Every one of them seemed to be completely smooth below the eyebrows, which became more apparent once they got down to the thong.

Charmaine came back out on stage. “Now remember girls, you may not touch the dancers AT ALL unless you are invited to do so by the dancers. Dancers, do you have anything to say?”

As one the six stepped forward and said, “If you can see it, you can touch it ladies.” The whistling and howling almost took the roof off, to my surprise I was howling like a wolf as loud as anyone. Charmaine signalled for silence. “Well, there you are ladies, if you can see it, you can touch it. That doesn’t leave much out of bounds. The boys will be coming down onto the floor in a moment, where they’ll be joined by a few more so there’s plenty to go around. Who wants to buy some Dollars?”

Oh, now I got it. We could do the ‘slip a banknote under the thong trick’ for a dance. Shocked at the exploitation of these poor young men I stuck my hand up and handed over my credit card for $100 in fives. No better make that $200. One of the pole dancer girls from earlier delivered me a fat envelope with a wink and a whispered “enjoy”. Charmaine and the girls were floating round the room, presumably chaperoning the boys to make sure nothing got too out of hand, or even in hand.

The six from the stage jumped down and were joined by another dozen or so equally ripped men who spaced out, two or three to a table where they introduced themselves. To my absolute delight we had Rocky, Shaft and newcomer Jack. I held up two piles of twenty dollars, one in each hand and invited Rocky and Shaft to come over and let me conceal them about their person. They were more than happy to come on over and let me pop the money in under the elasticated waist band of their thongs. Up close they smelled of aftershave and baby oil and I can confirm they had buttocks tighter than a rock bands drumkit. I gripped on hard, sliding my fingers into the hot cleft between their cheeks and taking a strong hold. So strong in fact that they had to lift my hands away so they could begin my dance. They stood me up and slid their bodies up close to mine, pulsing against my side, brushing their hands on my bum, coming in close as if to kiss me on the mouth before ducking away at the last minute.

Halfway through the track I found myself being manoeuvred to my chair, where one after the other they took turns to hook a leg over my shoulder and push the well filled crutch of their thongs tantalisingly close to my face. I’d never had threesome fantasies before but right then it was deep into my greatest desire, I was about to unhook my bra and pull it out through my dress to present to then when the music stopped and my two fantasy lovers stopped taunting me, they leaned in and gave me a kiss on the cheek then waved one of the girls over who pulled out a large purse and a notebook, counted the money in and made a note of who’d been given what.

I looked around the table, the other faces all looked stunned then suddenly scrabbled for their dollars and waved them to call over one of the dancers. I’d been lucky to get two of them, once the first dances were done any reticence was washed away in a torrent of lust.

I sat back feeling almost post orgasmic after the first dance and sipped my wine, then put it down because it was warm and strutted over to the bar in my four inch heels feeling like a sex goddess, albeit one with big control pants on, and ordered a long Island Iced Tea, then thought better of it when I remembered why it had been my cocktail of choice as a younger woman, it had more alcohol in than any other cocktail and got the evening going quicker. No decent story ever started with “I had just enjoyed a healthy salad” but I had several that started with a couple of Long Island Iced Teas.

I changed the order for a White Russian. “White Russian coming up. Are you Chris’s wife?”

What the fu…I looked at the barman, Joshua, I think. “Do I know you?” I asked, slightly querulously.

“Josh Marten, I play fullback for Colton seconds, sometimes firsts. You’re Chris Paxton’s wife, aren’t you?”

Bollocks. Bristol may have a population of over 690,000 but it’s really quite a small place.

“If I said no, would you believe me?”

“Don’t worry, Nicola, isn’t it?” I nodded “What goes on tour stays on tour. I’ve seen worse in here than you having a good time and it’s all very tightly controlled, nothing too extreme can happen. The dancers aren’t allowed to touch anything on the front of the body or any exposed skin apart from arms and faces.”

I thought back, they’d stroked my bum a bit, well once each and moved up and down my sides but apart from the kiss at the end that was the only actual contact. On reflection I wasn’t sure if I was impressed at the way they’d implied so much and done so little or if I felt short changed.

More study may be required.

I thanked Josh and tipped him twenty dollars in his cycling shorts. He seemed more embarrassed than me, which was my intention.

I took my drink back to the table and waved ten bucks at one of the new lads, he took my money and this time I was “tied” to my chair with a couple of napkins and the belt from a boxers dressing gown. “Move Closer” pounded out and maybe it was the White Russian or maybe he was a better dancer, or maybe I like being tied up, I made a note to try that one at home, but I enjoyed it on a more elemental level. Now I was aware of the touching rules I noticed what was happening but still got a kick from the dance.

The table dancing went on for the best part of an hour in all, Charmaine came out on stage to announce the imminent departure. “Ladies, the boys will be leaving soon for another gig, so you’ve got no more than fifteen minutes to spend those dollars.”

Tracy, one of the girls on our table, waved us all in. “I’ve got thirty dollars left, how about the rest of you?”

We went round the group and tallied up, Tracy’s thirty was at the bottom end, in total we had three hundred and forty-five dollars. Tracy was clearly a taking charge kind of girl and ran off to return a minute later with a pint glass. “Right, all dump it in here and we’ll see what they’ll do for this lot.”

Dutifully we coughed up, stuffing the glass full to overflowing. Tracy seemed to have acquired a sidekick, Rebecca was another one of the ex IRN girls, she’d called herself Bex when I knew her, which is probably why she still called me Coco, but was using Becca these days, and she was eagerly waving the nearest dancer across, it was one of the first six from the stage, Banger I think. “How much to lose everything?” she demanded, her eyes glittering with lust and desire.

He looked around, half the dancers had already disappeared, Charmaine and her cohorts were at the far end of the room and the lights were low. He licked his lips and slightly spoiled the moment by having a broad Bristolian accent. “Two fifty. Only one dance at a time. No cash through the books.”

Bex and Tracy conferred. “What do we get for three fifty?”

He looked nervously back down the room. “Touchin’s allowed, we can play with the spray cream and sauce ‘n’all. Four songs and I’m gone.”

They haggled and ended on five songs.

Tracy handed over the beer glass, he retrieved one of the dressing gowns from the stage and stuffed the money in a pocket.

The next track started and with a snap and a ping the leathery thong was gone, it had been doing a good job of holding in a moderately impressive package that brought admiring sounds from the rest of the table, I may be spoiled but it seemed to be average compared to Chris. I kept quiet, no one wanted to hear that.

He flexed his muscles and crouched down and stood alongside Wendy, who put on a big “Oooh keep that thing away from me” display of faux horror. He stood close to her, shielding his cock from everyone else’s view with his tightly toned bum. Wendy reached to the table and grabbed one of those cardboard coasters you get in pubs and clubs. He Turned slightly to reveal she’d balanced it to sit flat on the head of his penis. Tracy jumped in, “Competition time. Wendy, are you going to try again? No? Right move on. One to Wendy.”

There were two more seats before me, Jill was in one, who managed to get four, then someone I didn’t know who got three coasters to balance.

SO. My turn. Not that I’m competitive, but four seemed pathetic.

He stood in front of me and did a few flexes and grinds. I looked him in the eye and, reaching forward I said, “If I can see it, I can touch it, right?” He seemed less sure of himself now but confirmed that was still the case.

“So, what do you do when you’re not here, Banger?”

“I’m a fireman at the airport”

“Ooh, well, let’s see if we can’t get this hose to look a bit more like a pole” I whispered as I cupped him in my outstretched palm, gripping gently I worked my fingers around the shaft and squeezed softly. As I moved my hand back and forth, I was rewarded with a thickening and an increase in heat as it started to fill with blood. Not wanting to have to deal with a full-on boner I stopped when I had a semi hardon in my hand, opened my palm and in the other hand lifted a stack of ten coasters that I placed on the table by his right hip. I lifted the first to my lips, kissed it hard enough to leave a lipstick imprint and placed it carefully, kiss-mark down, onto his gently pulsating cock head. I loaded up another six, making seven in total and giving me a clear lead. Number eight toppled them all off and he pulled away to move on to the next lucky lady.

Next up was Tracy, who for all her show and bravado chickened out when push came to shove and couldn’t bring herself to touch him.

Finally, it was the turn of Bex, Becca, whatever. Now, I know I mentioned competitive earlier, but Bex took it to a new level. She was wearing a halter topped dress, held in place by double sided tape to stop her fairly large boobs spilling out. As the nervous looking fireman dancer stepped up his semi had subsided a bit but was still looking like he’d have trouble getting it back in the thong, Bex grabbed on with one hand and with the other slipped her halter top over her head, so she was sitting there with it held up only by the tape. She gave a small tug and suddenly she was topless with a naked man in front of her. Leaning forward she pushed her tits together around the drooping cock, which pretty soon wasn’t drooping any longer. Shocked squeals came from round the table, Tracy had regained some bravado and shouted out “You go for it gel”, brave when it’s someone else.

Bex shuffled forward in her chair so she could lean back slightly and called out “Gimme beermats Trace” Tracy scuttled round the table and came back with all she could find, handing them one at a time to her half naked partner in crime, who placed them two at a time on the swollen purple head jutting between her supporting white pillows. When she finished it was clearly more than the seven I’d achieved, although I disapproved of her method I had to admit it had been successful. Twenty seemed to be unbeatable and although I was offered the opportunity to try again, I declined, applauding Bex’ efforts.

Tracy pointed out we still had two tracks and we hadn’t tried the cream and chocolate sauce yet, our dancer seemed happier with this, presumably because he was back in charge, and grabbed both off the table. He danced up to Wendy, his erection seemingly likely to poke her in the eye and put a squirt of cream on the tip of his cock. She grabbed the thick shaft and leaned forward enough to look as if she was about to push it in her mouth, then wiped the cream off with her other hand and licked it off her finger with a grin. She rubbed him up and down a few more times then moved away.

The two girls between me and Wendy collapsed giggling and reached out with their fingerips to touch one each side and pick up some chocolate sauce that they wiped on their napkins.

My turn. He put a generous squirt of cream along the length of his cock and stood arrogantly in front of me, silently challenging me. Challenge accepted I was about to grab on when Josh the barman walked up behind him and whispered something I couldn’t hear. Without missing a beat, the creamy erection moved away and reappeared between Tracy and Bex. Tracy looked as if the prosecco and cocktails were catching up with her and slumped down in her seat, fanning herself with her hands.

Bex stuck out her tongue and licked the cream off, then took the chocolate sauce bottle and poured it over the swollen tip and pushed it into her mouth, working it back and forth. There was a stunned silence around the table, I wasn’t happy with where things were going and stood up to leave. Down the room I spotted Charmaine closing in with three of the girls and Chas or Mel, one of the door minders. I paused at the bar and asked Josh what he’d said, he shrugged “I pointed out he was going way beyond what was permitted and that as you are married to a friend of mine, I’d prefer it if he let it go.”

Touched that Josh was looking out for me and thankful he’d averted something I would have regretted I gave hm a hug and a peck on the cheek. Afterwards he indicated along the room with a nod of his head. Bex was being escorted towards the door, trying to fasten her top up as she walked. Banger was up against the far wall, Chas (or Mel) had a restraining hand on one shoulder while Charmaine was issuing what looked like the mother and father of all bollockings, all done quietly but her intent was clear enough. I had a suspicion his dancing days were over. A suspicion reinforced when Rocky and Shaft came out and joined in the bollocking. I will admit I didn’t recognise them with clothes on and had to ask Josh who they were.

Outside I whistled up Chris who was there in five minutes, two other girls form our party begged a lift and we all piled into the Volvo. Chris didn’t ask what had gone on during the evening, he works on the same “what goes on tour stays on tour” principle, on the basis that if you don’t trust each other there’s no point being together. Liz and Cassie didn’t have any such code of silence and spilled the lot, pole dancing lessons, male strippers, Bex being chucked out for blowing a dancer. That one caught his attention and once we’d dropped the other two off, I gave him the full rundown, including my annoyance at losing the stack-a-coaster-on-the-willy competition. I also told him his mate Josh had been watching out for me, he promised to buy the man a beer next time they met. In fact, he tried to promise to buy him a Babycham because he’s a back but I don’t really get Rugby jokes, so it went over my head.

Discussing it and telling him how I’d grabbed the dancer’s dick to make it semi erect to improve my chances of winning started to get me hot, it was the sharing with Chris that I found arousing, not the act itself, so much so that I reached across the car and tried to get his cock out, I wanted to give him a blowjob as he drove us home. It’s probably an indicator of which of us was sober, but he told me that as we were driving through the city centre and there was both lots of light and lots of CCTV, not to mention the crowds it probably wasn’t a good plan. If I could hold that thought we’d be home in five minutes, and he’d gladly shag my brains out when we got there.

We burst in through the front door, Chris in the lead me hanging round his shoulders. The door slammed behind and I pushed him forwards to the stairs, clawing at his fly I spun him round to lie back holding himself up by the elbows on a carpeted step. I hauled his trousers down around his ankles and knelt on the bottom step. My hair fell forward and tangled around his penis and my hands, I ended up with a mouthful of cock and my own chestnut tresses, I spat out the bits I didn’t want and sucked him to hardness. I felt certain there was more here than that fireman had on display, and while Chris wasn’t as ripped, I preferred the solid look.

The awkward angle combined with the difficulty in breathing on top of the bucket full of booze I’d consumed along with a Thai meal all helped to make me feel slightly queasy so I cut short Chris’s oral heaven and clambered over him to get up to the bedroom, shedding clothes along the way.

I dumped myself on the bed in just my heels, tights, big pants and bra, although I had unclipped the bra and was lying there with it loosely sitting on my breasts. What can I say, I’m a sex-goddess. Chris waddled in, his trousers tangled round his ankles and sat on the floor to pull them off, flicking his shoes back out through the door where at least one clumped down the stairs.

I pushed myself further up onto the bed with one wrist on each bed post at the head end. “Tie me to the bed and have your way with me.” I demanded, “Come on, do anything you want.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Anything?”

Even through my alcohol befuddled haze I picked that one up. “No. Not ANYTHING. Almost anything. No back door access.”

He climbed on next to me, pulled my bra away and tossed it onto the floor, he had his belt in one hand and looped it around my wrist then over the bed post, pulling it tight enough that I couldn’t move my hand. The other wrist was secured with a tie, he never wears ties so there weren’t many to choose from, it may have been his old school one.

Once I was trussed up he dragged on my waist band and hauled my big pants and tights down, pausing to slip my shoes off and replace them so they were all I had on, them and a seductive smile.

I tried to rationalise how I felt, apart from drunk, being tied up made me feel vulnerable but safe because I trusted Chris implicitly, I knew he would keep me safe but there was a secret thrill inside that said ‘but he could….’

He climbed onto the bed and crawled up next to me, he’d stripped off his shirt as well now and was naked beside me, in normal circumstances I’d have been stroking him, as it was, I couldn’t do anything, I just had to wait for him to do things to me. Another point in it’s favour there then. He kissed me, then I felt a silk scarf slipping round my head and the room was blocked from view.

“I didn’t ask you to blindfold me” I complained. He made the not unreasonable point that being tied up and used as his sexual plaything meant that him doing things I hadn’t asked for was sort of the point. Suddenly I couldn’t speak because there was a cock in my mouth, I couldn’t do a lot with it due to the angle, but he managed to slide in and out for a bit without choking me too much. He pulled away leaving me reaching fruitlessly with my mouth.

The bed moved underneath me, there was a shake and a bump that if I hadn’t known better, I would have said was someone getting off the bed. No, it was someone getting off the bed, the same someone was going downstairs. I heard the TV switch on, the channel changed to the familiar sounds of ‘Match of the day’. I pulled on my wrists, starting to get pissed off.

“Chris, you arsehole, if you’ve left me here to go and watch fucking football you can forget any of this shit. Get back up here and untie me. You don’t even like football you bastard.” I strained in the darkness, pushing up with my feet and thrashing round on the bed. I wasn’t getting free anytime soon and lay back down, fuming as Gary Lineker told Chris that later there would be highlights of West Ham against Southampton but first the Local Derby between Everton and Liverpool.