The drive to the bar near my husband’s office wasn’t far, but traffic this Monday noon was unusually heavy. I was glad for the time to collect my thoughts: I somehow needed to put recent events behind me and prepare for what was in store for me next.
The breeze from the window blew my light chemise and made the lace at my nipples ripple. This was not a garment meant to leave the bedroom, but here I was in the car on my way to have lunch with my husband…and his friend. Marc asked me to wear this, even created the conditions under which I was unable to wear anything else, but that’s a long story. He didn’t even want me to wear panties, but my friend, Ally, lent me hers, which is another long tale. Suffice it to say that in the last twenty-four hours I have been stripped by my husband in front of strangers, spanked by my landlord, and introduced to fetishes by Ally that I never knew existed. Yes, I had a lot to think about as I sat in traffic with the short hem of my garment bunched at my pussy, and my nipples at attention.
Things had been happening fast, and with such convoluted logic that I progressed from one absurd event to the next thinking that there must be some sense to it all. I guess it all started with that beguiling look Marc gives me that makes me say “yes” to anything. My efforts to please him have been my undoing, but I can’t imagine disappointing him. I do want to please him. He got such pleasure from seeing me naked in front of those two boys. It was for him, to keep us from getting kicked out of our apartment, that I took that spanking from our landlord. As for Ally, well…I have to be nice to her, the little snitch, or she’ll get me into more trouble with the landlord. No, I shouldn’t be hard on her: she’s such a dear, and I do enjoy her.
My mind was such a jumble that I was able to settle nothing, figure out nothing, before I pulled up in front of the small establishment with the neon sign inviting me to eat a sandwich and drink a beer. I was ten minutes late.
I looked down at my chemise one more time. ‘How could I wear this in public?’ I asked myself. I blushed at the thought of a passer-by peering into my car. I panicked at the idea of actually getting out of the car and waking into the eatery. ‘Marc must be out of his mind,’ I said out loud. The more I argued against leaving the car, the more moist my pussy became. I knew I would do as Marc asked.
I waited until the sidewalk was empty, then I jumped out of the car and rushed to the door of the bar. Holding my breath, I opened it and walked in. It was dark, and I paused just inside to let my eyes adjust. I was relieved that it was so dark: I thought perhaps people wouldn’t notice my bedroom attire.
“Ah, you made it,” Marc’s voice reached me through the darkness and I felt his arm around my waist. “You look great.”
“Thanks. Sorry I’m late…”
“No problem. Our table’s just over here, in the corner.”
As he guided me through the room, my eyes began to make the adjustment and I could make out a bar along the length of one wall, several ordinary tables and chairs in the middle of the room, a small stage at the wall opposite the bar, and tall round tables with high stools around the periphery. Businessmen occupied several tables, but I saw no women.
“Why is it so dark in here?” I asked. “I expected a little nicer place than this,” I added.
“Yeah, it’s more a bar than a restaurant, but the food really is good. You’ll see.”
“Hi, Liza!” Steve greeted me as we approached the table.
“Um, couldn’t we move to another table?” I had to look up to address him, because the seat of the stool was as high as my chest; the table was at eye level.
Before he could answer, Marc lifted me by the waist unto the stool across from Steve and I came down on it with a “plop.” My chemise billowed as I came down on the seat with the short hem hanging loose behind me. Instinctively I held the fabric at my crotch to prevent a show, but the boys did catch at brief glimpse of my panties.
“My god! I’m going to get a nose bleed way up here,” is all I could think to say as I adjusted the top of my chemise.
“It’s great. You’ll love it way up here. It’s like being on top of a mountain with all the little people below.” Steve waved his hand over the sparse crowd at the normal tables.
I surveyed the room from my perch and another disturbing fact hit me: all the tables were made of glass. My bare legs were on total display to Steve, and my attempt to hide them under the table had been in vain. All I could do was bunch the material of my chemise at my crotch and hope for the best. An unavoidable strip of panty at my hip was visible. I said a silent “thank you” to Ally for lending me her panties. At least I had some protection from prying eyes and the dirty bar stool. My eyes were completely adjusted to the dim light, now, and I realized that everyone could see pretty well in here after all.
“Did you bring a big appetite with you, Liza?” Marc asked.
“I haven’t eaten all day.”
The bartender arrived just then to take our order. I wanted to order a big meal right away that would require a lot of plates to clutter the table and obscure the view of my legs, but Marc just ordered three beers and told him to come back after we had a chance to study the menu. The large man drank in every inch of me with his eyes, then slowly set out on his mission.
“I think he likes you,” Marc joked.
“I have enough admirers, thanks.” I smiled sweetly.
“Well, you can certainly count me as one of them,” Steve spoke up. “That’s a great dress.”
“Um, thank you.” I replied. “Marc insisted I wear it.”
I gave Marc a playful jab in the ribs.
“Yep. Marc’s got great taste. That’s why he’s so good in the advertising game.” Steve raised a salute.
“Well, not everything about the outfit was my idea,” Marc said in a coy tone of voice.
“Oh?” Steve lengthened the single vowel into an inquisition, but one I was unwilling to answer. I sat as if I’d been turned to stone.
“Well, you see, Steve,” Marc began as the bartender set our beer on the table and ogled my chest, “I did lay out her outfit for her this morning: the dress (he called it a dress!) and those sexy shoes. Do you like her shoes, Steve?”
“Yeah, they’re great.”
The bartender continued to stand there, having shifted his gaze now to my legs. I couldn’t believe that Marc was talking about my outfit like this to Steve, and in front of this stranger to boot. I remained rigid, thinking that a statue was less likely to attract attention.
“Well, you don’t see any socks with them, do you?”
“No.”
I didn’t like where this was going.
“As well you shouldn’t, because, as I said, I laid out her dress and her shoes. That’s all.” Marc concluded with a slight twist of the head and an elevated eyebrow meant to infer that certain conclusions were wanting.
Steve used only a moment to come to the proper conclusion with a huge grin.
“I’ll have a house salad and a steak, medium-rare,” Marc turned his attention to the bartender.
Steve and I took his cue and placed our orders, too. I sighed in relief that now the subject would change, and even thought I could help things along.
“So, what have you two accomplished this morning at work?” I asked.
“We worked on an assignment for a client, fulfilling it just the way he asked. Isn’t that right, Steve?”
“Yeah, I guess.” Steve shrugged his shoulders not quite understanding where this train of thought was headed.
“We followed his specifications to the letter, not adding a single item he didn’t want. Right?”
I was cringing again, hoping beyond hope that we really weren’t going to explore the mystery of my panties.
“Right. No extras,” Steve chimed in.
“Well, the same precise adherence to detail doesn’t seem to be the way Liza does things.”
Marc gave me a hangdog look and pouted. He winked at Steve.
“I saw that wink,” I poked him in the ribs, again. “What are you two up to? No, never mind. I don’t want to know,” I added quickly.
“I saw your panties when you sat down,” Marc said.
So, now it was out. We were going to talk about my panties in front of Steve. I blushed every shade of red, but said nothing. I just wanted to melt into my stool.
“So, where’d you get ‘em?” Marc pressed.
I looked at Steve with horror in my eyes, but his expression was quite natural, as if this were normal table conversation among friends. I turned to face Marc. I started to say something, but my voice failed me.
“I thought we lost all your underwear. Did you go shopping this morning?”
“No.” I squeaked.
“You found some, then?”
“No.” I repeated with a shrug.
“What, then?”
“What’s it matter? I’m sure Steve isn’t interested in this.” I found my voice.
The bartender arrived with our lunch. With each plate he placed on the glass tabletop I felt more and more dressed. We all watched him in silence. I hoped that this break in the conversation would accomplish what the last one did not. ‘Couldn’t we talk about the weather, or religion, or politics,’ I begged silently.
Marc put his arm around me and leaned close to my ear.
“I love you, Liza.”
Then he kissed me on the cheek. It was a genuine kiss. One not meant to add pressure, but simple reassurance. Well, if I wasn’t befuddled before, I assure you, I was now. I felt like melting into my stool all over again, but this time from my husband’s touch.
