It was our club's first Fun Run of the spring. The weather had finally turned warm, and turnout was especially high. I was in charge of set up and clean up. I had hoped to be able to run, so I'd dressed in spandex running shorts and a loose tank top over my sports bra. But the turnout was so great that some runners were already finishing the short 5k course while I was still getting others started. The good news is that with so many participants, there were hardly any leftover supplies to dispose of, and cleanup was quick. Buoyed by our success, the other organizers and I retired to a nearby bar to celebrate.
Five of us tucked into a circular booth over by the jukebox. I ended up between Tom, the president of the group and Ben, one of the race officials. On Ben's right was Terri, the group's treasurer, and next, on the outside, was Terri's husband Dave. Dave bought the first round of drinks for the table, and we all toasted a great day. The bar was full of racers, friends, and families. The jukebox didn't get a rest.
After my second drink on no food, I started to feel the effects of the alcohol. I was in a great mood, and happy to share it with the others. We were quite cozy scrunched all together in our booth, telling tales and laughing. Tom got up to fetch another round, and when he returned, he slid into the booth quite a bit closer to me than he had been sitting. I noticed, but I didn't mind. He slung his right arm over the back of the booth, so his hips were touching mine. Within a few moments, I felt him begin to stroke my left arm with his own. He was still carrying on a conversation, so I assumed the stroking was absentminded. It felt nice, if I'm honest. I began to lean against Tom's warmth.
By this time, the crowd had become so boisterous, the music so loud, that conversation became difficult. Terri and Dave could hear only each other, while Ben, Tom, and I continued to chat. I leaned forward onto the table, and Tom ceased stroking my arm. Instead, he began stroking my ribcage. His movements became slower, more deliberate. Still I didn't discourage him, but it became increasingly difficult to keep my mind on the conversation instead of his fingers. All of a sudden, he slipped his hand inside the armhole of my tanktop and began caressing my breast over my bra. I emitted a quick gasp, too small to be heard by anyone else at the table. My nipple grew stiff, and I quickly crossed my arms so I could cover the movements of his hand with my own. He paused a moment, leaned over, and whispered in my ear.
"Your tits are so nice. I've wanted to touch them forever." I was completely unable to speak. I raised my glass and took a sip of my drink, hoping that my arm movements would hide the fact that Tom was groping me here in public. What I didn't do, however, was pull away from his grasp.
After that pause, his movements began again. He'd skim my protruding nipple and trace back to the skin below my armpit. Slowly, slowly, back and forth. In a short while, his fingers began following the edge off my bra, sliding in just under its outer edge. I was nearly crazy with anticipation. Would he put his hand inside my bra and feel me up properly? Would anybody else in the crowded noisy bar notice?
As if to answer me, Terry and Dave got up to dance to the next song playing. The crowd filled in behind them, serving as a human curtain to our booth. Ben, however, didn't slide over to take up the now-empty bench space. He looked at me with a quizzical expression.
"What's the matter? Too much to drink?"
I stammered. "No, I'm good. Fine." I guess my near panic -- not to mention my arousal -- was written on my face. Ben clearly didn't believe me, and glanced over at Tom. Just at this moment, Tom dove his hand into my bra, and cupped my left breast. His knuckles tented out the front of my top, catching Ben's attention. I could feel my face blaze with embarrassment, but I couldn't possibly stop Tom. If anything, having Ben see what was going on made me even hotter.
Ben's eyes grew wide. He grinned. "My, my! What do we have here?"
I closed my eyes and sighed shamefully. "Ohhh. He's playing with my tits."
Tom nodded and agreed, restating the obvious. "I'm playing with her tits." He brought his right arm back from behind me and tugged down the strap of my bra. The stretchy cup folded over and my breast popped out, still covered by my tanktop.
Ben glanced furtively around to see if the coast was clear, and seeing nothing, took my other bra strap down. His fingers were wet from the condensation his beer glass; I flinched at the cold. But it didn't take long for his hand to heat up as he pawed and mauled my right breast.
What could I do? I leaned back. My arms were pinned at the elbows by my bra straps; I did nothing to move. Frankly, I was afraid if I did, my hands would find their own amusements in Ben and Tom's laps. I was afraid, but I was yearning, too. I was totally turned on.
Tom moved his hand to my waist, searching for the band at the top of my shorts. He found it quickly, and reached down, underneath my panties to my pussy. When I spread my legs apart, he began stroking my already-wet slit.
I turned to Ben and whispered, "Oh! He's playing with my pussy." Why I felt the need to do play-by-play commentary, I don't know. I do know it turned me on even more to say it out loud.
"He's put his finger inside me. Ah, I'm so wet. You, you're rubbing my nipple; it feels so nice." I began to squirm in my seat. Ben pulled the armhole of my tanktop forward, hooking it between my breasts. My right tit was now exposed to open air. He cupped it and bounced it around a bit, then lowered his head to lightly suck on it. I arched my back, still terrified that any of the bar patrons might see me displayed so brazenly.
But then, I turned to deliver the latest development to Tom, who was still busy with my clit. "Ben's sucking my tit."
"Is it good?" was the reasonable follow-up question.
