Entertaining at Large

Most of the characters here are introduced in Entertaining at Home and the first chapter of this story. The more linear thinkers among you may want to check them first. As always, comments welcome and thanks to those who have.

*****

In the end the decision was made for me. An apologetic Steve texted me about six on Friday evening saying they were going to be held up at work for a while – something about a rushed order for Germany – and would I let Mr J know they were going to be late. I texted back.

'How late?'

'8 at the l8est. We could meet him there.'

'I'll take him and leave when you get there if it's not my scene.'

':).'

The Crown was packed when we arrived. It looked like George might even have underestimated his top guess. The crowd seemed nearer two hundred to me. I had to push a passage for Mr J and myself to the bar. All the local engineers I had ever seen were there, as well as quite a few of their colleagues who had never been in before. They were distinguishable by the paper hats they were wearing: supermarket-crackers' finest design. They had obviously been there for some time, the flushed faces and shouted, off-duty banter were a dead give away. George's notice about booking your Xmas party had clearly paid off.

The big room had been filled with tables. I found myself wondering where they had been kept the rest of the week as I steered Mr J through a narrow passage between occupied chairs. There was an air of expectancy among the men. I could not but notice that I was being checked out big time. One man blocking our way elbowed his mate to get his attention and they both looked me up and down grinning. They jumped when I asked them to let us through, muttering apologies. They then made a big play of acting as our escorts, clearing a path much more efficiently than I had been able to do.

We eventually made the clearing in front of the bar. I smiled thanks to the two men.

'Our pleasure. Got to keep the ladies happy, haven't we?'

I had no idea what he was talking about, but I noticed a space at the bar and headed for it. The gap was made by an unoccupied bar stool. It had a "reserved" notice taped to it. I looked around for the VIP and spotted Tracy sitting on the adjacent seat.

'Hi Tracy, remember me?'

'Susan right? The stool's for your guest. George made me bloody sit here until he arrived.'

She was dressed porno-schoolgirl style. Her short tartan skirt was split at the thigh; she had obviously given up trying to hold it closed. I could see white cotton panties beneath it, as could the half-a-dozen bleary faced men who were staring at her unashamedly from the nearest table. Her tight white blouse was tied beneath her breasts; a loose tie was knotted at the collar. I noticed she had bleached her roots and tied her hair in two bunches.

'This is Mr J. He's come down especially to see you. Mr J, this is Tracy. She's the star performer.'

'A pleasure to meet you, Tracy. May I buy you a drink?'

'Nice to see you too, Mr J. There's no need. Mine are on the house. George wanted your seat kept safe.'

'Big crowd in.'

'Never seen so many.'

We were shouting to make ourselves heard. I had one arm around her shoulder and the other resting on Mr J's. I felt him slip his hand round my waist. Cheeky devil.

'Looking forward to going on?'

'Too right. They're gagging for it. Might make enough for a holiday with my little lad.'

She grinned at me and jiggled her tits. It made me laugh. I heard Mr J join in.

I looked around for service. There were three middle-aged women serving a steady stream of customers. I had never seen any of them in the pub before, but from watching them banter with the guys ordering drinks I guessed they were regular Friday night staff. One of them, another bottle-blonde with the biggest breasts I had ever seen, was pulling pints at breakneck speed whilst chatting to the guy who had ordered them. She glanced across at me and smiled. I smiled back. She mouthed "Susan". I nodded. She came over when she had finished her transaction and rested her weighty mammaries on her folded forearms as she leaned across the bar to talk.

'Susan, right? You must be her guest. Pleasure to meet you. What are you having?'

I had been impressed with the size of her tits. I thought for a moment Mr J was going to disappear, eyes first, into her cavernous cleavage. He looked across at me for guidance, so I ordered two pints of George's best. They arrived in seconds, along with another alcopop for Tracy. This woman knew her job. She waved a meaty hand as I fished in my bag for my purse.

'First one is on the house. George wanted a word when you arrived. He's in the Ladies. Tracy, you keep Mr J entertained until Susan gets back.'

With that she was gone, back to the melee further down the bar, shouting for the next order. I turned back to Tracy.

'My mum.'

She said matter-of-factly and applied herself to the new bottle as if the madness around her was normal. I had questions: what was George doing in the Ladies? What was so urgent that he needed me? But mostly where did her mum get bras big enough to encase those mountains? And I suppose a bit of my mind was wondering what her mum thought of her daughter stripping. I thought about asking Tracy, but the noise was overwhelming. I put a hand on her shoulder and mouthed "I'm off to see George" when she turned to me. I bobbed my head towards Mr J and she nodded. Mr J grinned at me and the two of them put their heads together. I took a gulp of my beer before plotting a mental route to the toilets and heading down it.

The noise lessened as I entered the corridor which held the toilets. As the Ladies' door closed behind me, it virtually disappeared, to be replaced with a woman's soft sobbing. It was coming from a stall at the far end of the cool, tiled room. I approached cautiously.

'Hello. Need any help?'

'Susan. Thank god you're here.'

George's head appeared around the edge of the door. He was flush-faced and clearly in some discomfort. I looked around the cubicle to see he was kneeling on the floor cradling a sobbing girl's ankle on his lap. I looked down into the beautiful face of a stunning redhead. Beautiful, that is, if you ignored the rivulets of mixed tears and mascara streaking her face.

'This is Scarlett. That's her stage name anyway. She's slipped and twisted her ankle. Maybe broken it.'

I had done some first aid at work. The ankle resting on George's meaty thighs looked like some of the photos from the training course. Almost certainly broken, I thought.

'Go and see if the ambulance has arrived will you, love? Use the beer garden gate and bring them through that way, will you?'

I did as I was told and opened the gate just as the blue lights of the approaching vehicle lit up the dark street. Two cheery, green-clad paramedics exited the vehicle and came up to me.

'Hello, ducks. We're looking for a possible fracture.'

They followed me back to the toilet and immediately took charge. One of them helped a groaning George to his feet as his colleague fished in a bag for some pain relief. Scarlett's cries seemed to get louder now that help had arrived. George, hands in the small of his back as he stretched, nodded me over to the corner near the door.

'Nice to see you changed your mind. You're looking good.'

His eyes were glued to my chest.

'Eyes are up here, you old pervert. What the hell's going on?'

We were interrupted by the ambulance man who was obviously the senior. He quickly announced they were taking Scarlett to hospital and moments later she was wheeled past us, quieter now, but still crying. George leant down and whispered something to her, fishing some notes from his pocket and pushing them into the handbag on her knees.

'I'll be down to see you later, sweetheart.'

He announced to her retreating back. We followed them out and closed doors and gates. With a jerk of his head George signed I was to follow him and after checking there was nothing left behind in the toilets we went through a side door marked "Snug" I had never noticed before. It was one of those old-fashioned back rooms all pubs used to have. The once comfy seats were now in a worse condition than those in the main bar. Cases of spirits were piled on most of them. George hoisted his bulky frame onto a bar stool which creaked alarmingly and nodded to me to sit down next to him. He tinged an old-fashioned, hotel reception-style bell and let out a sigh which seemed to start at his boots and end somewhere in his receding, unkempt hair. He looked old, I thought.

'So. Got any plans for tonight? I need your help.'

'My help.'

I kept my tone neutral. George was not a man who inspired immediate trust. I knew I liked him enough to do what I could, but he was not someone to whom one gave a blank cheque. I waited for him to continue, but we were interrupted by the arrival of the busty barmaid carrying two pints.

'Your friends have arrived, love. I've introduced them to Mr J. He's a bit of a character, isn't he? Our Tracy's in stitches.'

George interrupted her flow with a raised finger. I was speculating on what an OAP could possibly be doing in a crowded bar which would be so entertaining for a twenty-year-old.

'Thanks Mandy darling. Give us a moment will you. I'll be through shortly.'

For a big woman - and she was a big woman, you don't get breasts like those on a diet - Mandy moved remarkably quietly. She had gone before I had time to thank her. I turned back to George and resumed my wait.

'It's like this, Susan. I've got the biggest crowd in there this pub has ever seen. They've come for a good, old time, back street pub Xmas bash and so far they're getting one.'

I nodded. For all the overcrowding the mood in the bar had been good natured and happy. We could hear laughter and shouts coming through from next door and cheers as someone dropped some glasses. George smiled. It was disconcerting.

'They're a good bunch, most of them mates of my regulars. It could be the best night I've ever had here. I'm seriously concerned I might run out of ale.'

'I'm not quite sure why you're telling me all this.'

Somewhere in George's rambling there was a point. I needed him to get to it. He took a deep breath and locked his eyes on mine.

'I need a replacement stripper. That silly tart Scarlett is obviously a no-show. I told the daft bint not to wear her platforms to the toilets...'

He shook his head.

'My sister's girl. Nice lass, but not too well endowed in the brains department. I'm not going to try and scam you, Susan, it's a seller's market. I'll pay you whatever you ask.'

I was expecting him to continue. He didn't. That just left me with my thoughts. Which were far from helpful. My pussy had moistened as soon as George made his proposal. I had been flattered by the attention I had received in the bar. Most of the men who had seen me must have assumed I was a stripper. Their stares and not-too-private comments made that clear. The thought of taking everything off in front of that bleary crowd was a turn on, I had to admit.

On the other hand, my stomach was tight and my butt clenched. I was nervous as hell. Could I do it? What if something went wrong? What if they didn't like me? That last, I told myself, was nonsense. That lot would cheer anything with tits and no knickers. I found myself smiling. My last concern was the lads. I definitely did not want to go back to being looked at as a bit of a tart who might be an easy lay. I told myself I wasn't being fair to them. But lads are lads as I knew too well from their own tales. I ought to play hard-to-get

'I haven't got anything to wear. Or not wear if you know what I mean?'

My mouth never could follow instructions from my brain. George burst out laughing in loud guffaws. The chair beneath him creaked and I could see waves of fat undulating beneath his shirt. It took him a full minute and the rest of his pint for him to compose himself.

'I told you before, there's loads of costumes here. Naughty Nurse, French maid, Miss Whiplash. Take your pick. You're a life saver. But if I were you I'd just take off what you've got on for the first set – sexy, but sophisticated, a bit of class – go dirty girl for the second strip. Knock their eyes out.'

'Hold on George, I haven't said yes yet.'

He winked at me. For him, it was obvious a decision had been made And I was just playing him for more of a fee. I looked at what I had on. I had just pulled a skirt and blouse out of a drawer without thinking too much when I got the text from Steve. I had on a silky deep purple blouse and a beige skirt. It was on the short side – about two inches above the knee – but by no means a mini. The mauve stockings I had found matched my underwear. They might just do, I supposed. I thought of my performances for Mr J. I was confident that with the right music I could put on a show.

'All right. I'll do it.'

'Wey, hey.'

George was beside himself. We agreed a one hundred pound fee, not that I was thinking of the money and he went through the running order.

'It's about eight now. I'll go out when we've finished here, tell a few jokes, get them warmed up, you know the sort of thing, announce the two acts. Then we'll get Tracy on. She's doing a schoolgirl thing for starters, you might have seen her out there.'

I nodded.

'Right one, she is. It'll take about five minutes for her to strip but a good fifteen to twenty minutes for her to get round with the jar. She loves it, parading naked around all those blokes. You just watch her.'

'I'm really not sure about the jar thing. It's one thing standing on a stage, but walking around...'

My voice trailed off. My mouth was dry and I could feel my lips sticking together. I took a long swig from my pint.

'Don't worry. You'll be fine. And on a night like tonight the tips will be mega. Anyway, after she's done I'll give them another ten minutes or so to get more beers in, go for a wank and what have you, then I'll announce you. You want a stage name, or is Susan OK?'

'I like Suzette better. Bit more tarty.'

'Suzette it is. Anyway, you do your thing, round with the jar. Few more jokes from me, bit of an intermission then same again. Second strip's usually a bit more raunchy.'

He started to ease himself off the stool again. I held up my hand to stop him.

'Raunchy?'

'Just watch Tracy. I'll get Mandy to bring down some costumes during the first half; there'll be no beer bought whilst you two are at it. You can change in here. You'll be fine.'

He smiled at me again and this time succeeded in heaving himself upright.

'Your mates have got a table down the front - I arranged it with Steve – you can watch the first bit from there. Just step up onto the stage when I call you.'

He held the door for me and locked it behind us. We both went through to the main bar. If anything it was more crowded than before. All the blokes in there were red faced; it was almost as if the walls were sweating the heat was so intense. There were two pints on the end of the bar waiting for us. George handed me mine and then, with a wink, pushed his way towards the stage. I followed; George's bulk left a wide corridor.

The lads and Mr J we're delighted to see me. Mr J and Piotr both stood as I arrived and indicated an empty chair between them. Steve and Wot sort of half-waved; Luke pushed another full pint across to me. I was nervous and feeling a little sick as the full implications of what I had agreed to do hit me. Our table was right up against the stage. It was loaded with glasses, including two of those old pebble-glass pint posts with a handle. They were empty. I nodded and smiled round the group but was not taking in anything that was said to me. I found myself tugging at my skirt hem repeatedly in some sort of nervous reaction. George's patter brought me back to reality.

He started his spiel with a few minutes of banter with the audience. He singled out people he knew among the locals stinging them with catty one-liners or recalling incidents which had happened in the pub. They usually involved vomiting, or knee-tremblers, or both; and always took place in the beer garden. His jokes, the next bit, were truly awful. They were mostly about blondes with big tits, vicars and, of all things, travelling salesmen. They must have come out of a nineteen-fifties blue jokes book. But, credit where credit is due, the audience lapped them up. The jeers and groans grew louder as he went on, and on. Eventually, he held up a hand and called for quiet.

'All right boys. We all know why we're here.'

He paused for effect.

' The beer right?'

There were enthusiastic boos and a cry of "get the strippers on" which was warmly applauded by most of the men there.

'OK, OK. I know when I'm beaten. Now gentlemen, we have a couple of real crackers for you this evening. I found the first one making a mess of her homework in the back bar when I turned up tonight. She tells me she wants to break into showbiz and asked if I could give her a hand. I told her if she gave me a hand she could break anything she wanted. So now please give a warm hand to your favourite and mine: Tracy.'

He stepped away from the stage pulling the chair he had been leaning against back with a flourish and Pink Floyd's "The Wall" boomed out of the speakers. I straightened in my chair. I wanted to watch Tracy's act to see if I could pick up any pointers. I don't know how she got to the stage, but suddenly there she was skipping girlishly around the edge of the platform. It was only about eighteen inches high and bathed in bright white light from spots in the ceiling above; the rest of the lights in the place seemed to have been dimmed. Tracy used the whole area.

The school outfit was augmented with a huge sticky lolly which she licked enthusiastically as she moved. The crowd whistled and cheered as she moved. Some of the men clapped along with the beat, others stamped their feet. The room was rocking. Tracy stopped licking and skipping after a minute or so; she walked to the front of the stage and leaned to deposit the sweet in one of the empty jugs. She fluttered her eyes at Mr J who blew her a kiss. They obviously had got on.

The nature of "We Don't Want No Education..." lent itself to an aggressive, jerky kind of dance. Tracy exploited the stomping rhythm to the full. She flung the hat into the crowd after one line and started tugging at the tie. It eventually came loose and she tossed it over to Mr J. There was definitely something going on there, I thought. She danced and stomped around for about thirty more seconds before starting to play with the knot at her belly.

Give a girl her due, she knew what the men wanted and was prepared to give it to them. They wanted her naked and she proceeded to deliver in double-quick time. The shirt buttons were undone in almost an unzipping motion. She let it hang loose while she dealt with the skirt. It fell off her with the motions of her dancing one she had loosened the catch at her waist. She then flashed each corner of the crowd before discarding the shirt in an almost nonchalant shrug of her shoulders. She wasn't wearing a bra and the crowd exploded with renewed whistles and catcalls.

Her boobs were large but not pendulous. She kneaded them like large balls of dough lifting one, then the other, to massage her nipples with her tongue. The men loved it. The noise notched up another few decibels. She was standing in her white briefs and matching knee-socks. She played with the panties a little, stretching the thin fabric over her pussy and rubbing herself vigorously while she did so. Her head was thrown back in mock ecstasy and her tongue flickered over her lips. The knickers came off in one smooth movement and she pranced around the stage spinning them from an upraised finger.