Pat placed with shaking hands the desserts in front of the seated men. Her nipples were still on fire and her knees weak, her eyes blurry with tears. Her breath was caught in her throat as waves of pain and pleasure were ricocheting across her body. A long drop of clear grool was dripping from her pussy, tracing a long cool line down her inner thigh.
The men were speaking, but Pat could not concentrate enough to understand the words coming out of their mouths.
When she placed a plate in front of Robert, he slipped his hand between her legs and traced his fingertips up her thighs, all the way up, until his fingers brushed against the soft, and very wet, lips of her sex. She froze, trembling. The assembled men could only see that Robert's hand was somewhere under that apron, but could not see what he was doing. He slipped a finger into her pussy. Pat could not hold back a gasp. She leaned forward a bit, pushing her ass out, pulling his finger deeper into her wet cunt.
He shoved another finger in, obviously finger-fucking her from behind as she leaned on the table. She hung her head, shamelessly moaning as that orgasm was finally going to arrive and deliver her from the hot ball of tension that had seized her body. The men seated around the table were silent, frozen, staring.
Robert suddenly stopped.
Pat moaned, a long and plaintive cry, her hips rolling around his impaling fingers, trying to fish that orgasm for herself. Robert pulled his fingers out, wiping her juices off of them on her bare ass. Pat bit her lip and stood up straight, almost crying with frustration.
"Take the apron off," muttered one of the men, "give us a real show!"
Before Pat could reach behind her to undo her apron, something she did without hesitating or thinking, Robert stopped her.
"Guys, we can't go too far, we're not in private here," he said, nodding towards the door. Pat tried to breathe deeply and quench the fire in her pussy. Waves of wet heat were spreading from her wet cunt, from her swollen clit. This was torture of the sweetest kind. She stiffened her knees and stepped away from Robert, her hands shaking.
Amanda walked in with the rest of the dessert plates. Everyone turned, surprised. Amanda placed the last two plates in front of the men, looking suspiciously at Pat and Robert.
"She's still dressed," said one of the men, pointing at Amanda.
A flurry of fifty dollar bills rained on Amanda. She gathered the bills and placed her hands on her hips.
"So I'm dessert?" she said, smiling.
The men laughed and clapped.
"Okay. Let's see..." she said, making a show of counting the bills. She walked over to the end of the table so that she could face all of them. She started unbuttoning her shirt.
"Let the other one do it!" blurted out one of the guys.
There was a chorus of cheers. Robert pushed Pat forward, his hand firm against her bare ass. Pat walked around the table, very aware that every man in the room was staring at her ass, at the side of her bare boob, at the curve of her bare belly which led to her burning clit. This might be a welcome distraction from her burning need.
She stood in front of Amanda.
"How do you want to do this?" she whispered to her.
"Just undo the buttons, I'll do the rest," replied Amanda.
Pat reached for the top button on Amanda's shirt and undid it. The following buttons were harder. She had to reach inside the apron, her hands pressed against the soft flesh of her friend's breasts. She could feel her hard nipples poking the back of her hands. She undid the next few buttons, her hands drifting lower, the shirt opening more and more. Pat was very aware of the closeness of Amanda's body; she could smell her perfume, a mix of musky and sweet. She could feel the heat of her body against her hands. More than anything, she could feel the stare of the assembled men on her ass. With her back to them, she looked naked, the curve of her back leading to the swell of her hips, to the cleft of her ass, to that wet, hungry spot nestled between her thighs. Pat wouldn't look up, but licked her lips.
Finally done, she stepped aside. With some flourish, Amanda removed her shirt and tossed it to the side. Her heavy breasts jiggled behind the apron. An arc of dark flesh marked where an areola threatened to peek out.
Amanda turned, swishing her hips like a burlesque dancer. She made a show of reaching for the zipper of her skirt.
"Stop," said Robert in a tone that froze both Amanda and Pat. "Put your hands on the bookcase in front of you. Above your head. Higher."
Amanda followed his instructions, a frustrated look on her face that only Pat could see. Amanda was not used to be told what to do. But now, in that position, she was leaning slightly forward, braced by her hands against that bookcase. If her hands slipped, she would fall. Her ass was pushed out towards the men.
"Now take her skirt off," ordered Robert.
Pat stepped forward and unzipped Amanda's skirt. It peeled open, but stayed on her hips.
"Pull it down," instructed Robert.
Pat started tugging at the skirt, pulling it over Amanda's wide hips. With a last tug, it fell to the floor, revealing Amanda's long toned legs and sculpted ass. Her small black thong barely contained the fullness of her pussy peeking from between her thighs.
Pat knew what to do next. She took hold of the thong with both hands and pulled it down, slowly. She made sure to stand to the side so that the men had a good view as the gusset of the thong peeled away from Amanda's shaved labia. Meaty inner lips pushed out from within. Amanda stepped out of her panties, opening her legs. All the men's eyes were locked on her pussy as the step opened her up, the lips parting to reveal a deeper pink within.
Pat and Amanda were equally naked now, both dressed in only their shoes and apron. Amanda stayed in her position, her ass pointed at the men. She looked over her shoulder saucily and slowly jiggled her butt.
Robert motioned to Pat. She understood. She raised her hand and "Smack!" She landed a resounding hand on Amanda's ass. Amanda yelped and started to turn, surprised and a little angry.
