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After the Game Ch. 02

by erinbrew 01/13/18

Since this is Part Two, and since the set-up is in Part One, and since even on a sex site it might be best to read in order, I strongly advise checking out "After the Game" first!

But whatever you choose, happy reading. Etc.

*

As it turned out, our first stop wasn't the county fair, it was a pancake house a few blocks away from the fair's parking lot. What can I say? We were hungry!

Chad, Danny, Krista, and I walked in as a foursome, and a distracted hostess showed us to a booth near the front. Krista made no move to sit, and the rest of us followed her lead, hesitating. The hostess, maybe thirty-five and clearly ready for her shift to be done, got the message.

"Is there somewhere else you'd rather sit?" she asked.

Krista indicated a booth at the back corner. "Somewhere a little more private?" she asked.

The hostess avoided rolling her eyes, and soon enough we were seated in the closest thing to a private booth the diner had to offer----but Krista made certain I was seated facing front. In the corner, to be sure, so not exactly on display, and Chad was next to me, partially blocking anyone's view, but I wasn't exactly hidden, either. That wouldn't have been an issue on a normal day, since I was dressed no more brazenly than usual----which is to say, well within the bounds of 21st century West Coast modesty----but this wasn't a normal day, and Krista wasn't a normal roommate.

"Now," said Krista, fixing me with a critical stare. "Off with your top, please."

"What?" I asked, trying to look baffled, although I'd guessed all along that this was what Krista had in mind.

"Tits out," she said. "Let's see your breasts."

Now it was my turn to roll my eyes, which I did, and then I hauled down my blouse and shifted my bra out of the way enough to let my breasts, just for a moment, swing free.

"No, no, no," said Krista. "This isn't a hospital, and we're not talking about limited visiting hours. I'm talking out, available. You're going to be topless from here until we leave the restaurant."

"But..."

"Come on," Krista said, insistent. "Here comes our server."

I gave in. I shimmied my top over my head and unhooked my bra. My breasts came into full view just as the server, a girl with cropped pink hair who couldn't have been more than nineteen, arrived to deliver four glasses of water and take our drinks order. She started to say, "Hi, welcome to..." but then she saw me and managed to say, "Um," instead.

"Don't worry about it," said Danny. "It's just something she does sometimes."

"Because her name," said Krista, with a wicked grin, "is Annie Cunt."

The server stared. At Krista, and then at my tits.

"Annie," said Krista, "introduce yourself."

"Hi," I said, my pulse pounding. To cover, to just plain fight through it, I extended one hand. "I'm Annie..."

Krista wasn't standing for half measures. "Go on," she said. "Spit it out."

What the hell, I thought. In for a penny, in for a pound. I drew a breath, got better control of my tongue, and said, "I'm Annie Cunt." Resolve and all, the last part came out as a whisper. Even so, Krista looked pleased.

The server took my hand, looking as if she'd been hypnotized. "Jeanie," she said. "Nice to meet you. Does anybody want anything to drink?"

Both Chad and Danny started to order, and then both----stupid, silly boys----fell all over themselves trying to be deferential instead, to let Krista and me order first. I was so flustered, I couldn't think of anything more creative than water, which made Krista laugh. Everybody else got sodas.

Jeanie made her getaway, and Danny started a long, probably pretty funny story about the last time he'd come to this same restaurant and gotten into an argument with a guy at the next booth, who had definite opinions about this, that, and the other. Something political, labor relations and workplace safety. I couldn't follow it. I was thinking, and thinking hard, about my current situation: my rather dramatic and sudden fall from "good girl" grace.

True, I'm not a "good girl" in that sense, meaning I'm not a prude. But nor have I been, at any point in my life, a public nuisance. I'm not a brawler, an addict, or a zealot. I've never panhandled. I'm not a prostitute. I have never, in short, participated in just about anything that the general public would file under "scandalous" or "drunk and disorderly."

Yet there I sat, in a perfectly normal pancake house, in the middle of the day, bare-breasted.

And I felt kind of okay about it.

Which was not, of course, okay.

Why? Because I'm educated, and I'm not an idiot. I know perfectly well that women get objectified by men at every turn (and that sometimes, it's not just the men). I am painfully aware that we women get the short end of the stick when it comes to payroll, and that cadres of men, mostly old and mostly white, control the laws that control our bodies, and that women are the ones to get blamed if we're assaulted or raped, usually on the convenient, simple-minded grounds that we were "asking for it" or we "showed too much skin" or "dressed inappropriately," all of which gets me seeing red----as it should. In short, I'm a smart, contemporary, 21st century woman, and I know better than to reduce myself to a hormone-driven piece of ass.

And yet, there I sat. Breasts out. Nipples hard as stiff little gumdrops. Chad had his hand on my right thigh, his fingers still but definitely draped on the inside of my leg. I didn't want to consider what I'd do if he moved his hand higher up.

No means no, I reminded myself. I could stop this at any time. Krista was my roommate, not my boss, and I didn't have to play a single one of her reindeer games if common sense suggested otherwise.

But hadn't common sense already suggested otherwise? And had I done a damn thing in response?

Was it possible that I actually liked being submissive?

Krista, who was staring at me, the straw from her water tucked between her lips, seemed to be reading my mind. She let go of the straw and sat back, looking like the cat that ate the canary.

"My, my," she said. "I bet you thought you were such a good girl, and now look at you."

Chad, bless his horny little heart, rose to my defense. "Give her a break."

"Seriously," said Danny. "You want to give her a hard time, show some skin yourself."

Arching an eyebrow, Krista glanced at Danny. "Is that what you want, lover boy? You want me to strip like Annie?"

I thought Danny would wilt under Krista's challenge, but he didn't. Or not exactly. "Doesn't seem quite fair," was all he managed to mumble.

"Fair has nothing to do with it," Krista said. "If this were about fair, you and Chad would have your shirts off, too. And maybe your shorts."

With a nod toward the door, Chad said, "No shirt, no shoes, no service."

"Which explains," said Krista, "why Annie only got water."

Danny shook his head. "You're being evasive."

"No, I'm being in charge. There's a difference. And right now, the captain of this cruise line says that it's Annie who has to be naked, not me."

There was a brief, and very uncomfortable, silence.

"Oh, come on," said Krista. "We got this far, and now you're all going to lose your nerve? Listen," she said, leaning in, elbows on the table, "we are going to have the best time today. As if we haven't already, right? I'm going to remember what we did back in the kitchen for the rest of my life. But if we get comfy, if we don't push ourselves, if we don't push Annie in particular, it'll be, you know. Pedestrian. The usual. And I don't want that, not anymore."

"You're saying..." Chad, I could tell, was a person who liked to process. "You're saying that someday, we're gonna be way old, and that when we are, we're gonna wish we'd made some crazy good memories."

Nodding, Krista said, "So we never have to say, 'I wish' and 'I should have.' Like you two," she went on, glancing first at Chad, then Danny. "Think about it. Neither one of you had ever touched another guy before this morning. Am I right? But now, you've not only held another guy's cock in your mouth, you've tasted him, swallowed his cum. You've had an incredible experience, and it didn't make you less of something, or reduce you in any way. If anything, it's done the opposite. So sex is like travel, right? 'Travel is broadening.' You are both better people for having had the balls to road-test gay sex."

Danny snorted a derisive laugh. "That is the worst pun ever."

"Okay, not 'balls,' let's try 'gall.' For having had the gall to suck cock, you are both better people. I dare you argue the point."

Jeanie the server had arrived just in time to hear this last, and she was blushing so hard, her cheeks pretty much matched the flaming pink of her pretty punk hair. To cover, she said, "Got your drinks!" like an excited little bird, and nearly spilled all three as she delivered them.

Then she looked at me. Sort of. "You sure you just want water?" she said.

I'd kept my eyes on the table from the moment Jeanie arrived, but then----I don't know what got into me, or at least not exactly, but somehow her having acknowledged me, having dared to speak when I was so clearly the wrong person to even glance at gave me courage I didn't even know I had. I looked up, I looked right in Jeanie's pretty blue eyes, and I said, "Depends. Do you have a liquor license?"

Jeanie winced as if I'd goosed her. "We don't, actually."

I took that in, disappointed but unsurprised. This was a pancake joint, after all. Then I sat straighter, pushed my shoulders back, and said, "Jeanie. I want you to look at me."

She nodded twice. "I am looking at you."

"No, at my tits."

She swallowed hard, and did so. Everyone else seemed to have frozen, Krista especially. This wasn't part of her script.

"Well?" I said, once I was sure Jeanie's eyes were fixed on my chest. "What do you think?"

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