Amy And The Bachelor Party

Author's note: This is a "stand alone" story featuring Amy Parker, the heroine of the "The Art Teacher" series.

I wrote "The Art Teacher" on a lark. When it was nearing completion, I knew a sequel was needed. The sequel was almost complete when the first part was published last August. An anonymous reader suggested that perhaps in 5 years Amy encounters the boys again. That comment inspired me to write the conclusion to the story.

This story takes place between events that occurred in "The Art Teacher Pt. 03".

As I look at the story's timeline, I see space for more adventures early in the marriage of Coach and Amy. Suggestions welcomed!

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My name is Amy Parker, and I am a high school teacher in a small Midwest town. When I was just finishing my second year as a teacher, I had allowed four of the senior football players in my Art Appreciation class to trick me into posing nude for them the day after graduation. It had actually turned out well for me, resulting in my marriage to the football coach. We had been married for almost three years.

Summers were great for us. I worked on our home, thought about changes I wanted to make to next year's courses, and read several books - some in French. Coach had more time to play golf, his other passion (besides football and me). During the fall, he was pre-occupied with football; during our cold winters our golf courses were closed. Coach played golf once a week in the spring but once school was out and summer arrived, he liked to play two or three times a week. He had a regular foursome: he and his assistant coach; a former club professional who retired here; and his best friend, Bill. Bill was a pharmaceutical rep who controlled his own schedule, so whenever Coach wanted to play, the other three would as well. The closest course was about 1/2 hour from us, but there were several in their rotation within an hour's drive of our small hamlet.

Coach still had some football responsibilities in the summer. Most of the team came to the school to lift weights over the summer break, Coach and his staff worked on the equipment and planned next season's schedule, and "two-a-day" practices started the last three weeks of August. Coach was paid over the summer; I was not. We love our football in the mid-west!

Usually around mid-July I ran low on "discretionary" money, the unbudgeted funds I spent on me, and on Coach's late July birthday present. The first two summers after we married, I tried unsuccessfully to find a part time summer job. There were only a few of those in our little community, and I was competing with our students. Our third summer together Coach convinced me to just enjoy the time-off since I worked long hours during the school year.

One Tuesday evening in mid-July 2014, our phone rang. Coach was reading one of his golf magazines, so I went into the kitchen and answered. It was my good friend Matt Sutton, a model I met in college. Matt was still managing himself and other models and had a problem. He said he didn't think I could help but was desperate and wanted to share his problem with me in case I had any ideas.

One of Matt's models had developed a lucrative side business, serving drinks at Bachelor Parties. Matt managed these events for her - they didn't fit perfectly into his business model, but the commissions were good, so he took them on. She was scheduled to work a Bachelor Party on Wednesday night, but her grandmother had just fallen ill, and she had flown home to see her. None of his other models were willing/available to support the party and Matt was stuck.

"Matt," I asked, "who has a Bachelor Party on a Wednesday night?"

Matt laughed and responded, "I know. That's unusual, right? The groom is an old guy on his second marriage. I think most of the attendees are retired. They got a discount on the venue by holding the event mid-week."

I told Matt that I might be available and was intrigued and wanted to know more. How long was the gig? How much did it pay? What was the uniform?

Matt continued, "Amy, I really didn't think you'd be interested in this, but since you are asking, here is the deal. My model only works small Bachelor Parties (a dozen to twenty guests) - larger than that they can get rowdy. They are almost all held at the Downtown Marriott in their Conference Center, which has three rooms with dividers between them. The middle room is set up with tables for a private dinner. The model uses one of the two side rooms to hang out and for changing into her French Maid outfit. After dinner, she enters the party room, takes drink orders, and passes the orders to a bartender assigned to her. He makes the drinks, and she serves them during the speeches and toasts. She serves two rounds of drinks and that takes about an hour. For this she makes between $150 and $400 a night."

"Okay." I say, "That's a big gap. There's more to this than just serving drinks, isn't there?"

"Well,... yes." responded Matt. There was a short pause as he tried to figure out the best way to continue. Finally, he just blurted it out. "Amy, the basic fee is $100. For $200, the model serves the second drink topless. And for $300 she serves the first drink topless and the second drink completely nude. Additionally, she makes between $50 and $100 in tips. I get 20% of the fee for my commission, but if you will help me out, I won't take a commission."

"Has the party for tomorrow night already decided which option they want?" I asked.

"Yes." Matt replied hesitantly. "They've asked for the $300 option, but I can always tell them it's no longer available." Now I knew why none of Matt's other models were interested.

It actually gave me a little tingle when Matt said the group had already selected the $300 option. Here were a group of older men to whom I could serve drinks naked and they would give me $300 and tips. I felt my nipples stiffen. It had been three years since I posed for my boys. Here was an opportunity to have multiple men view me naked again. The gig was two hours from here so there wasn't much chance I'd know any of them, I reasoned. I recalled the feeling it gave me to let an older man see me naked on my honeymoon. It seemed older men were more appreciative. I felt my heart racing and my breathing quicken. I knew I was going to take this opportunity.

I answered Matt by asking, "Matt, can I stay at your place tomorrow night?" I heard a huge sigh of relief followed by, "Of course! By the way, bring your own heels to wear with the outfit I will provide." It was settled. Matt would give me the rest of the details tomorrow when I met him at his place.

I hung up the phone and returned to the living room. "Sweetheart," I asked, "Matt needs me in the city tomorrow night. Will you be okay if I help him out and then spend the night at his place?"

"Of course." responded Coach. Then he asked, "What's up?"

I would tell Coach eventually, but for now I wanted it to be a secret. My plan was to use the money I earned to buy his birthday present, and I wanted him to be surprised. "Matt asked me to substitute for a friend who went to visit a sick relative." I offered. Coach seemed satisfied with that response and returned to his magazine.

Wednesday arrived. Coach and his golf buddies had a tee time at a course about an hour away. That gave me plenty of time to pack my bag and personal items. I left the house about 2PM, wanting to get into the city before the evening rush hour traffic really became fierce. I arrived at Matt's place a little after 4PM and knocked.

Matt opened his door for me and was holding a glass of chardonnay.

"A little early for you to start drinking, isn't it?" I quipped. "This is for you." replied Matt. I took the glass and took a big sip as I navigated over to his familiar sofa. "So, what's the deal?" I asked.

Matt gave me the details. Dinner is served at 6:30 but I don't make an appearance until 7:00. While taking the drink orders, I'm to be wearing a French Maid's uniform. Matt had the uniform, recently cleaned, in a bag which he handed me. I took it out and examined it - it was my size. It was black with white trim accents. The uniform included panties, a short, flared skirt, a low-cut blouse with puffy shoulder sleeves, a white apron, and a black with white lace choker that fit snugly around the neck. Also in the bag was a pad of paper and a couple of pens for writing down the drink orders.

The girl who had this gig used "Destiny" as a stage name while performing. I told Matt I was happy to be just "Amy". He told me that Destiny meets the manager of the hotel at 6:45 in the lobby and he takes care of her from there.

Matt continued to share other details: The groom is an old guy who will have about 18 of his relatives and buddies at the dinner; only the "best man" knows I'm coming; the gig is a present from him to the groom: the two of them worked together for years.

Finally, Matt talked about the options. "Look, Amy. You are doing me a great favor just standing in for Destiny tonight. Please don't feel any pressure to do anything that would make you uncomfortable. I can always tell them that a new waitress had to fill in and the $200 and $300 options are off the table."

"Thanks, Matt!" I responded, starting to feel my glass of wine. "I might want to take those options off the table later, but let's leave them on for now. I need a birthday gift for Coach and I have to make some money to buy one."

Matt and I continued to talk and catch up. I had another glass of chardonnay and then it was time for me to drive to the hotel - about 15 minutes away. I gave Matt a hug and told him to leave the lights on for me.

I arrived at the hotel at 6:40, parked, grabbed my stuff, and headed into the lobby. It was a warm summer evening, and I was wearing a pink sundress. As I entered the Marriott Lobby, I heard a voice call out, "Amy? Amy Parker!?" I turned to see a boy I knew at the University. "Steve?" I exclaimed. "What are you doing here?" I asked. The moment those words left my mouth, I noticed Steve was wearing a starched white shirt with a nametag that identified him as the manager. So much for not knowing anyone here, I thought.

"I'm the manager here." Steve cheerfully responded. "Wow!" I said, trying to sound impressed. I looked him up and down. Damn, he still looked good!

Steve and I were at University together, both studying French Literature. We had two classes together first semester of our junior year. We had even gone on two dates, but apparently, he wasn't that interested in me. He didn't try to kiss me good night after either date, although I would have liked him to - he was such a gentleman.

I had felt a spark with Steve and after our first date, I was ready to sleep with him if asked. During our second date, I put my hand on his thigh to signify my interest. Steve didn't respond; in fact, he looked uncomfortable, so I removed it. After our second date I realized that Steve just wasn't interested in me, and he never asked me out again.

If he wasn't interested, I had wondered, why did he ask me out in the first place? Perhaps it was because I had been friendly to him, and he was just being polite.

I thought he was a great guy, really good looking, very smart and funny. I always wondered if I had said or done something to offend him. I didn't see how; both our dates had been fun! I had looked forward to the opportunity to sleep with him. But none of that would happen. It was a missed opportunity.

My thoughts were interrupted as Steve asked me a question.

"What brings you here, Amy?" I noticed he was looking over my shoulder towards the entrance as if he were waiting for somebody. I gulped before answering. "Steve, I think you are waiting for me. I'm the replacement for Destiny. She had a conflict tonight." Steve looked at me dumbfounded, unable to speak. Finally, I added, "This isn't my normal job - a good friend manages Destiny and asked me to fill in at the last minute." At that moment I realized that there was no way to explain my behavior and I should just shut-up.

"Oh, wow." was all Steve could say. Then he turned and asked me to follow him. We crossed the lobby, went through a door marked "Staff Only", down a hall past the kitchen, and through another door into a dark room. You could hear people talking nearby. Steve turned on the lights and I could see we were in a vacant conference room with a few chairs scattered around. This room was separated from the party room by five sliding floor-to-ceiling wall sections, slid closed. The center wall section contained a door which led to the party room.

"This is your changing room." announced Steve. "It's also where you can wait for the drinks you'll serve. The guests already have a list of the drinks we offer for their post dinner toasts. Your job is to take their orders, give the orders to our bartender, and then serve the drinks to the guests. You should put your drink tray on the tray stand in the middle of the room and then serve the guests individually from there."

I nodded that I understood. It felt awkward; I didn't know what to say to Steve. I set the bag with my uniform on one of the available chairs. Finally, Steve asked, "Are you wearing the French Maid outfit tonight?"

"Yes." was all I could offer. Now it was Steve's turn to nod awkwardly.

"Well, I guess I should change." I announced. I thought that might be the signal Steve needed to leave, but he just stood there. Was he going to watch? Suddenly the thought of that excited me and I felt a shiver run up my spine. Steve sensed my apprehension and announced, "I'm sorry Amy, I guess you weren't told, it's company policy that an employee be assigned to monitor any meeting room that is occupied. I can turn around, though. As Steve started to turn, I thought, "If this is going to be awkward, at least we can try to enjoy it." I asked, "Do you watch Destiny?" "Sometimes." Steve responded, now with his back to me. "But I'm not sure she likes me looking."

"Well, I like you looking." I said before thinking. "What I mean is," I quickly added, "I'd feel bad if you got in trouble for not doing your job properly." Steve turned back around to face me and said, "You're right, of course, Amy. You make a good point. I need to keep my eye on you, so you don't steal one of the chairs." I smiled remembering how funny Steve could be.

With Steve watching, I pulled the sundress over my head leaving me in just my white bra and panties. His raised eyebrows and puckered mouth were all I needed to see. "I'm finally going to strip for him." I said to myself. The thought of that excited me as I reached behind my back and unhooked my bra. I leaned forward and let my bra fall off me, exposing my perky breasts and stiffening nipples. I heard an appreciative gasp which turned me on even more.

I reached down and hooked my thumbs under the elastic sides of my panties. I hesitated, pretending to be shy. Steve was intently watching my performance, and I was getting turned-on!

I took a deep breath, turned my head slightly to the side, bent forward, and pulled my panties to my ankles. There was another gasp from Steve, followed by, "... damn." I straightened up and stood there naked for Steve to examine as I used my feet to work my panties off both my ankles and onto the floor.

I walked over to the bag, took my time rummaging through it, and emerged with the black panties that went with the uniform. I slowly stepped into them and pulled them in place. Then I reached back into the bag and retrieved the pink hearts stockings and garter belt my first boyfriend had given me for my 19

th

birthday. The French Maid outfit had not included stockings, and I thought they'd be a nice touch.

I sat in one of the available chairs, looked over at Steve, and, holding the stockings out for him to take, asked, "Do you mind?" He walked over to me and took the stockings. He raised my right leg to his waist, and while holding my ankle with one hand, used his other to put on my stocking. It was extraordinarily erotic to be sitting topless while Steve performed his task. He repeated the process with my left leg then stepped back. I stood up and found my garter belt. I fastened it around my waist and was about to connect the garter straps to the stockings when Steve looked at me quizzically and announced, "Amy, I think you are doing it wrong." I cocked my head to the side to signal my confusion.

"Well, if your plan is to serve the second round in just your stockings, shouldn't your garter belt straps be under your panties?" Steve was right, of course. I smiled with the realization I would be removing my panties once more for him. I reached down and pulled down the black panties, stepped out of them and held them in my hand.

"I could use your help again, Steve." As I made my request, I held up my hands in front of me to show that my left hand was holding my panties and not available for the next task. "Can you connect my garter straps?" Then I placed both hands behind my head, spread my feet to shoulder width apart, and stood there, facing Steve, naked except for my stockings, waiting for him to act.

I was deliciously and completely exposed for him. For a few moments he just stood there looking at me. Then he approached and squatted in front of me, his eyes now level with my trimmed, blonde pussy. A wave of embarrassment washed over me. I felt like I was on display for him. It was the same feeling I had the night John inspected me at close range. I was so turned-on!

Steve went to work connecting the six garter belt straps to my stockings. As he worked the straps, his fingers lightly brushed the tops of my thighs, causing me to tilt my head back with an audible sigh. His fingers were tantalizing close to my womanhood. He finished the task, rose, and stepped back. I gave him a slow turn so he could check and make sure everything was in place. Then, I carefully stepped back into my black panties and pulled them up.

I put on the rest of the outfit, saving the cloth choker around my neck for last. "Well, how do I look?" I asked as I did another slow turn for him. "Amy, you look like sex on a stick!" he said admiringly. Steve appeared in thought then added, "Although I do have to say, I like you better naked."

The awkwardness now gone; I gave Steve a big smile then headed for the door; it was time to meet my Bachelor Party.

"You haven't mentioned it, so I'm guessing you don't know who's in there." Steve's comment caused me to hesitate. I gave him a blank stare. "The groom is Professor Stanton." he offered.

"Professor William Stanton!?" I asked, not believing what I just heard.

"Yes." said Steve. "And the best man is Dr. Jenkins." There are probably two or three other professors that you know - or, to put it more bluntly, know you."

I was dumbstruck. Professor Stanton was one of the kindest, neatest men I'd ever met. He had been my faculty advisor my first two years at State. It was he who guided my course selection my first two years. It was he who agreed that adding a minor in Education was a good fit for me. He had a great sense of humor and could flirt with the girls without being creepy. You could tell he had been cool his entire life. When I met him, he had been widowed for several years and I wondered why another savvy woman hadn't snatched him up. Now, someone had.

Professor and Mrs. Stanton never had children, but it was common knowledge that, years before they met, he had fathered an illegitimate son and had done the right thing - supporting the boy financially and helping with the parenting.

His best friend, the former Chair of the Language Department, Dr. Henry Jenkins, was almost as cool. He acted a bit more serious than Professor Stanton - probably a result of his position - but was friendly and always had a crowd of students around him talking. Wherever he was, he seemed to command the room.