The Panty Perils of Me

I want to tell you about my day of working construction for Mr. Abromski, but need to update some other things first.

I decided to sign up for some night classes at the University. I seem to be spending most of my free time there anyway, although too often it has been in just a bra and panties and lately without the bra. Anyway, I want to study human sexuality and fetishes, which just happen to be the realm of both Dr. Thrasher and the just disposed of head of the department, Dr. Spoocher. I heard that they had brought in a female to head the department and so I can now possibly learn something about my quirks and myself without having to deal with either of the previous professors in the department. Who knows maybe I will find my future profession in this area. No, I don’t mean as a madam or anything similar. I mean as an academian; a teacher.

Anyway the reason I mention all of this is when I was enrolling on line I accidentally signed up for a chemistry class taught by a Professor Eric. When he noticed my age as I was about twice the age of his average student, he contacted me and offered his assistance in helping me get adjusted to a college level science class. I wrote him back and told him that it was all a mistake. Well one thing led to another, and I met him for coffee. I have to say that I really enjoyed his company and am starting to see him somewhat on a regular basis; as regular as a married woman with a full time job can see another man.

What this has instigated, however, is Edward (my other professor) being somewhat unsatisfied with me. As he has stated to me, “You are not nearly as compliant nor as submissive as you once were.” I have to admit, that he is correct. I seem to be finding my balance, if that is the right word, and starting to be more independent of him. I still love to be spanked, but spanking has become more of a sexual experience than a cleansing one for me. I want to start finding my own way through the morass of sexual adventures while doing what pleases me the most. I do still yearn to be subservient, but now only in a way that excites me; not just the other person.

I don’t where this is all going, as I say over and over again, but my time with Edward may be coming to a close, and I might find a perfect playmate in Professor Eric. He has subtly inferred things in our conversations that make me wonder about his own little quirks and secret desires. I guess that time will tell.

Sorry for the long tangent as I suspect that you want to hear about my day as an assistant to Mr. Abromski.

Mr. Abromski told me to dress ready for work; work as in construction work. So I put on an old red t-shirt with the words ‘New York” printed on the front, a pair of loose fitting jeans that I have been meaning to get rid of for quite some time now, and I borrowed a pair of old work boots from a neighbor. His son had worn them for a summer job he had had painting houses.

I slipped a pair of work gloves in the back waistband of my jeans, grabbed my bag, and was ready to serve my sentence. Mr. Abromski picked me up at my house and drove me to the work site. He introduced me to everyone and told them to essentially put me to work. I wasn’t exactly comfortable with the little smirks that each man had on their face, but attributed it to the fact that I was a woman who knew very little about construction wearing boots that were obviously too big for me.

They put me to work immediately cleaning up the worksite. They were doing the finishing work on a newly constructed house. The wood floors had just been laid and I was asked to pick up the spare pieces of wood flooring and then to give everything a good sweeping. I thought to myself, ” This isn’t so bad,” and chastised myself for feeling so nervous about Mr. Abromski.

The one issue that was difficult for me to get used to was using a port-a-potty for a bathroom. Despite the fact that it was reasonably clean, thank goodness, it was located in the backyard of the house and was anything but private. Whenever I used it I could hear all of the activity right outside as I sat there with my jeans and panties around my ankles. Maybe someone would find this sexy, but I was a bit unnerved by it. However I kept thinking that if this is the worst thing that I have to deal with today, then I should have no complaints whatsoever.

Everything was going fabulous and I was really enjoying myself, although I was a bit disappointed that I wasn’t the center of attention. Granted I was older than most of them, but considering my playground experience with my neighborhood teens, I still raised blood levels in one part of the male anatomy.

They turned out to be a great bunch of men ranging between the ages of 22 and 48. They pretty much fit the stereotypical construction crew, as they were very red-blooded males who enjoyed talking about women and ogling women. They seemed to be a very tight knit group constantly kidding each other about sexual things such as penis size. They also talked about all of the times that they had gone to gentlemen’s clubs together and about the sexy dancers that they enjoyed.

As I shared earlier, I was feeling a bit left out as well as jealous that they weren’t spending more time ogling me, although I didn’t exactly have the perfect outfit to be ogled in. My loose fitting jeans that easily would have fallen to my knees except for my belt didn’t exactly garner any second looks. I even was wearing my tiny string bikini leopard print panties, but what difference did it make if no one would see me in them.

Soon enough it was lunchtime and as we all settled around a long sheet of plywood propped up by two sawhorses creating a makeshift table, Mr. Abromski drove up in his oversized pickup. He got out carrying two cases of beer and brought them over to where we were all sitting. He told us that he had just secured the track of land adjacent to this worksite and thus would be able to expand his housing project guaranteeing jobs for everyone for at least another 3 years. A loud cheer went up and the cases of beer were broken open.

I had three with my limit being one and was feeling quite good. The rest of the crew along with Mr. Abromski finished off the remaining cans of beer.

Everyone seemed to handle their liquor quite well except for me. I was light headed and feeling quite daring. Maybe I should include horny in this description, as my body seemed on high alert.

I needed to go to the bathroom, but had to wait for the two men in line before me. The one in the port-a-potty right before me took a bit of time and I swear that I could hear him moaning my name while performing his business. I just didn’t realize until it was my turn what that business exactly was. He came out of the port-a-potty with a big smile on his face directing it right at me. I tentatively entered the port-a-potty and could tell by the telltale odor that his business was not Nos. 1 or 2. Then I saw it. On the side wall where the tiny urinal is typically located were stream after stream of spunk dripping down the wall. My co-worker had masturbated while I stood right outside and left me the evidence of his wet dream about me on the wall.

I pulled my jeans and panties down and settled onto the plastic toilet seat watching the tendrils of his desire slowly work their way down the plastic. I should have been disgusted, but it seems that the alcohol that I had consumed just a short while prior had worn away any of the inhibitions that I had brought with me this morning. Just the idea that this not so bad looking man had masturbated as he thought about me made my intimate area twitch with appreciation. As I sat there tinkling into the blue chemical cistern, I found myself examining the white goo on the wall right next to me. I pushed my finger into a large glob and rubbed it between two fingers. It still was warm and slick with just a tinge of stickiness. I began to imagine what it might feel like to have my body coated with it. The feeling of a warm viscous liquid running down my back, over my stomach and between my legs. How it would be to have it splashed on my face and running into my mouth?

As I sat there absently musing the fantasy of it all, it suddenly came to me. I was already a part of the fundraiser for the university that dropped me into this place at this time. Why not see if I could raise some additional funds for the chemistry department and my new friend, Professor Eric. I had always wanted the feeling of presenting a good sized check to some organization and now I had that chance using what was now becoming natural to me.

I liked the idea of being this crew’s live pin up. I liked the idea so much that I removed the belt in my jeans that pretty much kept them up and stuffed it into my bag. I then found a tiny hole in my t-shirt about half way up and used it to tear off the bottom half of material. My t-shirt was now a midriff top that barely covered my breasts. The show was about to began.

When I got out of the port-a-potty I walked back into the house asking what I could help with next. Immediately I was the center of attention with my low-slung jeans and bare stomach. Everyone seemed to be staring at my nipples poking against the thin cotton material of my top; no one seemed to notice my one hand that was being used to keep my jeans from dropping to a level extremely low on my hips. I mean extremely low. I was trembling in anticipation of what I planned to do wondering whether I would really go through with it.

I had heard enough stories early in the day about their visits to gentlemen’s clubs and now I wanted to be their entertainment, but for a price. The question is, “What am I willing to do to raise money for the chemistry department?” Or was the real question, “What am I willing to do to be noticed?” I was about to find out the answer.

What a difference from just a few months ago when I was constantly being forced to be someone’s entertainment that so often resulted in my arousal and abject humiliation. I had learned to hate myself for feeling so excited when being used by men. This time I wanted to find out how it felt to purposely put on a show.

I was told to climb a ladder to help install crown molding in the living area. I knew that with both hands occupied, my jeans would be at risk of slipping down my waist. What I was willing to find out was whether my hips would hold them up or whether they would just continue their journey down my body until I was basically pantless.

I took the length of crown molding in one hand and the nail gun in the other and started to climb the rungs of the ladder. With each step up I could feel my jeans trying to find their place on my lower torso. Just taking my hand off of the waistband resulted in them settling on my hips revealing my lower abdomen and c-section scar located just above my panty line. By the second rung my jeans were barely kept up by the fabric of my panties. I noticed that the typical sound of laughter and kidding that filled the room was gone. A quick look over my shoulder told me that my work buddies were watching my ascent up the ladder accompanied by the descent of my jeans down my waist. With a very condescending smile I gave a little shake of my hips and down went my jeans. What was so perfect was how my shop apron stayed tied around my hips creating the effect of wearing a too short mini skirt that was completely open in the back. And it was my back that was facing my audience.

I shook one leg loose and then the other leaving my jeans piled on the wood floor just below the ladder.

A loud whoop of approval greeted my impromptu striptease. God, it felt so good to be in just my t-shirt and panties in front of these men.

With a sheepish grin on my face, I turned towards them, still holding the strip of crown molding, and nail gun. I placed the nail gun on the top rung of the ladder and let the length of crown molding slide to the floor. In the best business voice that I could muster, I said, “You all know that I am here with you today because I volunteered my services to raise money for the University.” My body was trembling all over and I could feel my lips rapidly swelling between my legs. With a swallow I continued, “I would also like to volunteer my services for an addition donation to the chemistry department. You boys have all talked in front of me about visiting strip clubs. How about if I bring a little strip club to you today?’ Well the response was obvious, but it still made me feel faint. I had proposed that for a check made out to the university chemistry department of $100 per person, I would do a strip tease for them.

With their loud acceptance I turned around on the ladder wrapping one of my legs around a leg of the ladder and very suggestively slid down to the floor making sure that my leopard print crotch made full contact with the side of the ladder as I descended. By the time my feet touched the floor, my intimate flower was in full bloom.

I continued to hump the side of the ladder while rubbing my hands all over my body paying particular attention to my very erect little nubs poking straight ahead under my t-shirt. The men voiced their encouragement when I turned around to face them placing both hands on my inner thighs moving them upward and over my leopard print crotch. I don’t know if they realized the change in my facial expression as my exploration resulted in a rather significant little find. As my fingers made their way over my crotch I could feel my little kernel fully formed and pushing against the thin nylon fabric. They may think that I was only feigning my desire, but I couldn’t help but close my eyes and let out a little moan while my fingers lingered on their unexpected discovery.

Mr. Abromski yelled out, “$500 more to take your top off.” Little did he know that it was coming off anyway, but why argue with another $500.

I turned my back to them, spread my legs wide apart, and slowly bent forward until I could look between my legs. Remember my high school days as a gymnast? It still was coming in very useful. I took a hold of my ankles and again very slowly brought my hands up my legs until they again were clutching my crotch. My t-shirt had vacated my breasts sliding up my torso to cover my face. One of the advantages of having small breasts are that my t-shirts don’t really fit tight anywhere unless my nipples are erect. While still bent over, I took a hold of it and pulled it free of my arms and head.

I slowly raised myself back up holding my t-shirt over my breasts and turned to face everyone again. Then with a little flourish I threw it into my audience. My work apron was next as I moved my hips in a circular motion while untying the strings. Once they were untied I held the apron strings straight out at the sides so it still covered my panties. Then I would bring the strings in towards me letting the apron droop showing off my leopard print. The entire time I had the biggest smile on my face. I couldn’t have been enjoying myself any more than I was right now and couldn’t have been more aroused. After a few dips of the apron I swung it around over my head and then let it go to join my t-shirt in my attentive male audience.

Now I was wearing nothing but my work boots and leopard print panties. Not being any sort of expert stripper I was losing my creativity until I spied a large Phillips screwdriver in the tool belt of my nearest co-worker. I sauntered over to him letting him grab my almost bare cheeks with one hand as I rubbed myself on his leg and slowly pulled the screwdriver from his belt. I tried to make it symbolize an emerging erection and wonder if anyone noticed. Once it was in my hands I began to lick the very tip of the handle. Have you ever noticed how so many tools look like phallic symbols? The handle of a large screwdriver is the perfect example as it has a large knob on the end mimicking the head of a man’s penis, which is exactly what I hoped they would see it as. After licking the tip all over, I began to insert the end into my mouth and pretended as best I could to perform oral sex on the screwdriver. I must have been doing pretty well as my audience began to make some crude remarks regarding my lips being wrapped around something of theirs.

I was getting more and more aroused watching them watch me. My lower lips were dripping and a wet spot was beginning to form on the leopard print fabric right between my legs. I should have felt embarrassed and stopped right there, but I was beyond the point of reason. I leaned my body against the ladder spreading my legs apart and slowly brought the handle of the screwdriver down the front of my torso rubbing its gooey end across my hard nipples and then down the front of my body until it was at the top of my string bikini panties. Then I rubbed it across the front of my panties slowly working its way closer and closer to my crotch. Everyone’s eyes were glued on me and despite their loose fitting jeans I could see that everyone had grown another tool just below their tool belts.

I was lost in the sexual energy of it all. I pushed the knob of the screwdriver against my crotch, pushing my hips forward and started to masturbate myself with it. My hips moved forward and backward as I ground my leopard print crotch into the handle. Back and forth, back and forth my hips went, until I had created my own version of a very wet camel toe. And then my orgasm arrived basically knocking down the door and forcing my body into such a series of violent convulsions that I had to grab at the rungs of the ladder to keep from falling. “Uh, uh, uh, came out of my mouth in a rhythmic staccato as way off in the distance I could hear my audience cheering me on. My thighs put the handle of the screwdriver into a death grip so I could use both hands on the ladder to keep from falling. It looked like I had been impaled on a screwdriver and was in the throes of desperate act to get myself off.

Finally the last spasms left my body and with my hair sticking with sweat to my forehead, I faced each one of them and with a sly little grin said, “I bet you don’t see that in a strip club?” But my poor male audience still had unattended needs to be taken care of and I was far from finished.

Not knowing where my new sexual audacity was coming from, I continued, “How would you all like to have me in the middle of your very own circle jerk?” I swear that just a short while ago, I had no idea what a circle jerk was and now I wanted to be in the middle of one. In fact, how did I know what a circle jerk was?

Again their response was obvious, but I continued in my business voice despite the fact that my panties were soaked and I could feel another wet front forming between my legs. It will cost $1,000 to be made out to the chemistry department. Did I really even know Professor Erik that well? More importantly, was I really doing this for him or was it really for me?

Mr. Abromski stepped forward saying, “Make it $5,000 and no one ever talks about it.”

I wasn’t quite sure exactly what to do, so I lay down in the middle of the wood floor trying to arch my back suggestively with one hand between my legs and the other pinching one of my still very hard nipples. The men formed their circle around me and with a sound of 6 zippers coming undone; I watched 6 dark red cylinders of flesh being pulled out through the opening of their pants and all pointing in my direction. I guess the average size of an erection is about 5 inches as that was what I saw although Mr. Abromski’s was much thicker than the others.

It made no difference to me, as I loved the look of all of them, circumcised or uncircumcised. They were all extremely sexy and all for me.