Car Show Slut Ch 08

Wow, what a night that had been! Well, actually I didn't make such a big night of it in the end; I left Sarah to party on into the small hours. Before I did leave the strip club, though, there was one last tasty little interlude with that black security guy. Stuart was out on stage doing the judging, and Sarah had gone out to grab some drinks from the bar, so it was just me and the security guy. He was looking me up and down with piercing eyes, smiling. Staring at my naked pussy. I smiled back at him, almost surprised at myself that I didn't mind him looking. I'd already noticed the enormous hard on in his pants and, exhausted though I was, I was still feeling rather horny after the 'show'.

"That was one hot show you put on out there, girl," he said as I put my bra on. "You got it goin' on!"

"Thank you," I smiled. I was still sitting down, naked except for my bra and heels. I felt his piercing gaze on my body. My pussy began to throb. Strangely, sitting there basically naked as this big black guy leered at me and complimented me was almost more exciting than revealing it all on stage. God, he was looking straight at my pussy. And I actually shifted my legs a little to show him more. It felt so wicked, but why not? Hundreds of others out there had just seen everything, and more. At that moment I felt just so sexual. I started wondering what it would be like to actually fuck a black guy. His cock looked huge in his pants.

"Yeah, you sure is one hot lady," he said, in that big deep voice. "Nice tits, clit piercing; damn fine, baby."

I almost blushed at his comments, and his boldness. My pussy was doing more than that. I was getting wet again. I smiled at him. God, he was sexy: big, muscular, black. I wanted him. Yes, I wanted him, and as 'Angie' the stripper, I felt emboldened, I guess almost licensed in a way as I think about it now, to proposition this black guy that I didn't know, which was something that Anne would never, ever do. God, having sex with a black guy!

"I'm Angie," I smiled sweetly.

"Leroy. Pleased to meet you, ma'am."

"So Leroy, what are you doing after work? Feel like going for a drink?" Ooh, that felt so wicked! And here I was, naked, showing this stranger my pussy and virtually propositioning him!

"I'd love to, baby, really love to. But I lose my job if I seen with the lady performers. That the rule here in the place, and I stick by the rule."

"That's a shame," I shrugged.

"Baby, I can look, but no touch. But ya'll could give me a little show right here in private with that sexy little pussy of yours. Ain't no one else here right now."

Ooh yes, I could do that, I remember thinking, and I remember how the very idea of it sent my clit into an almost throbbing spasm. I shifted in my seat so I was facing him directly. I smiled up at him and spread my legs for him. I grabbed my tits and massaged them as seductively as I could. God, that somehow felt even more brazen than what I'd just done on stage! He seemed to like my show. Very much so, by the look on his face.

"You like that?" I teased. God, was I really doing this?

"Oh yeah, baby, show me that sweet pussy. Damn that's fine!"

My legs were wide apart. I slid my hand down to my clit and gently played with it, tugging the ring. Ooh, I was wetting myself – and the look on Leroy's face! He looked tortured, like all he wanted in the world was to rip his pants off and jam his big black cock deep inside me and fuck me like I was his little white whore. As that thought swam through my consciousness, my hand slid down to my opening, and felt the dewy wetness. I was so wet, so frustrated! The tip of my finger slipped inside and I rubbed it up and down my opening, as much for my own pleasure as that of Leroy, who looked like he was about to cum in his pants. I looked into his eyes. The man was consumed by lust, and so was I. I could hardly believe the scene, what I was doing in front of a man I didn't even know – a black man!

Then Sarah came back into the room. There our little private show ended. Leroy straightened himself up and I went back to getting dressed. I left not long after that, leaving Sarah to party on into the night. Leroy actually escorted me to my car to make sure I 'don't get no trouble' from some of the guys in the audience that were now spilling out of the bar and into the street. And he was true to his word; Leroy didn't lay a finger on me, even if the look on his face said he'd just about have given his right arm to fuck me. He did give me his phone number, though. I guess it was OK to be seen with the 'lady performers' out of work time. I tucked it away in my purse. Maybe...

And the funny thing was, before I left, when Stuart came back from the stage, he told me I'd won the contest! They judged it by the applause from the crowd, and apparently they cheered the most for me! I would give the $500 to Sarah – I didn't need it – but I decided the keep the beauty queen-style sash that read 'Vauxhall Tavern Miss Amateur Stripper 2006'...

God, what a night indeed! Days later as I reflected on it all, I still could hardly believe I'd been a stripper in a strip club.

I hadn't been to the gym in a while so I thought I'd better make a visit – after all, I'd already paid the month in full for my personal trainer. Might as well get my money's worth. The euphoria of the stripping experience had remained with me for several days after the event, and even as I went through my routine with Steve, the personal trainer, my mind drifted back to how it felt up on stage – and how it all seemed somehow not quite real. It had certainly got me horny, though, and I was feeling particularly frustrated as I went through my weights program, Steven towering above me as he 'spotted' for me. Having him there in close proximity wasn't helping on the frustration front. As usual he was wearing those tight lyrca shorts, which showed off his rippling thigh muscles, as well as his nicely endowed member. Yep, it was just like the last time I was here – the lycra left little to the imagination, and in the right position you could clearly make out the shape of the head of his cock through the material. It was hard not to look at his cock; after all, I was lying on the floor as I did my weights, and he was standing basically directly over me. I never used to notice it much before, but tonight I could hardly take my eyes off it. God, this guy is built! Those muscle-bound thighs of his, so powerful, and his cock just nestling there under the lycra. God, I could almost reach up and touch it from where I was. I started imagining what it would look like naked. What it would feel like in my bare hand, against my skin, as it started to get hard. I bet his cock would get very hard... Mmm. God, this was getting me wet. Sex with my personal trainer? No...

When I noticed him looking down at me and tuned my gaze away almost out of embarrassment and glanced down my own body. My nipples were stiff, erect under my tight lycra top, and as a looked at them closely I realized that, if you knew what you were looking at, you could just make out the shape of my two nipple pins under my top. I wondered if Steve could see them. I wondered, too, how concealed from view my clit ring was in my tight lycra shorts? Could he see that as well? Just the idea that he might, ooh, that sent a tinge straight to my pussy.

Later that night at home as I was doing the laundry, I picked up the sash I'd won at the stripping competition. How cute, I thought, just like you'd see in a beauty pageant. I imagined myself back at the club, receiving my sash for hottest stripper and going out on the stage in nothing but my heels, the sash and a bouquet of flowers to receive the applause of the crowd. I stripped off my gym gear and threw the sash over my shoulder and modeled with it in the mirror. Hmm, Miss Amateur Stripper 2006 indeed!

Next day at work, I was regretting the gym workout. I'd pushed myself too hard, maybe on account of my sexual frustration, but whatever, now I was very stiff and sore. Maybe I should stick to swimming.

Soon, though, I had other matters to occupy my mind. Ron, the guy from the beach, the guy from Wallgrove-Fordham, one of our clients, and whom I would be meeting next week, was on the phone. I felt a slight shudder at hearing his voice, which was the last time I had spoken to him since that infamous, embarrassing day at the beach.

"Anne, we've got a problem," he said. "With the campaign."

"What is it?"

"It's not good. Look, can you bring forward our meeting to this afternoon? It's really that urgent. I'll explain when you get here."

"Um, OK, I'll see you, say, around two."

"Good, see you then. Bye."

There seemed an air of mystery behind what he had said. I felt wary – he hadn't explained exactly what the problem was. What if it had something to do with the beach? No, it wasn't like that. Don't be paranoid. He was genuinely concerned, judging by the tone of his voice, and he had said it was to do with the campaign. Either way, I had no choice – I had to go. I rescheduled my afternoon and let my staff know what was going on.

Ron and his colleague Darren were waiting for me in the lobby when I arrived at Wallgrove-Fordham. They made an odd pair – while they were both probably in their late 30s, Ron was tall, fairly slim with short black/gray hair, while Darren was short, a little bit stocky but in a muscular kind of way, and slightly balding. But they both had the same edgy look about them as we headed into their board room. Clearly, something was badly amiss.

"Anne, I want you to take a look at this," said Darren as he switched on the dvd player. Obviously it was going to be some kind of video, but when I saw what it was I couldn't believe it. There was our entire campaign, more or less, but as an ad for their main competitor. It wasn't exactly the same as they one we'd just spent weeks devising and producing, but the general theme was almost identical.

"I think you can see the problem we've got," Darren said. "This ran prime time over much of the west coast last night. And our spies tell us they're going nation wide within two weeks, maybe earlier. And the print campaign, we believe, is basically the same."

My heart sank. This was a monumental problem. The campaign that we'd done for them, that was to be formally presented to their boss in the morning for final approval, now could not be used. So we now had nothing, and worse, the competitor was already out there in the market place. The campaign had been done by my two troublesome underlings back in the office, Brad and Pete, and while I hadn't been fully happy with it, I'd signed off on it, so it was my head on the block. For a moment as we looked at the ad one more time, I wondered whether or not there was something untoward going on here – such as Brad or Pete having got an offer from our rival marketing firm. No, even those two wouldn't be so stupid as to pull a stunt like that.

"Look," said Darren, "Obviously we're not happy, and it's your campaign that's landed us in this mess. But I'm not blaming you, because we all thought it was a good idea right up until last night. But we're in trouble here – all of us. If we make our presentation tomorrow to our superiors, we're all going to look like a bunch of idiots. It might even be worth more than our jobs."

Ron nodded. "So, what can we do?" said Ron. "I mean, we can't come up with a new TV ad overnight, and we have to have something on the table tomorrow morning."

"OK," I said, thinking on my feet. "Maybe if we can come up with a new concept, and massage that into something that's at least presentable, do some rough layouts, and give them that. We could stall for time, tell them – I'll tell them myself, I'll take the blame - there have been a few technical hitches but it's all going to plan."

"But when, how?" said Darren.

"Here, right now. We've got the rest of the afternoon, so let's just get it done between the three of us. What do you guys think?"

Seeing that we were all in this together, and no one could come up with an alternative, the answer wasn't hard.

"Right," I said. "Forget the old campaign. I want you to both write down all the positive aspects of the product you can think of. We'll pool our ideas and see what we end up with."

I find I always work best under pressure, and this was no different. It took a few hours and much discussion, and despite the urgency of the problem it was an enjoyable experience – and productive. These guys were good to work with: quick witted, and smart. By the end of the day we'd hit upon a basic slogan – and a rather catchy one, too, which Ron had come up with.

"Well done, Ron," I said. "You could be a marketing man with talents like that."

"Thanks," he said. "Well, you know, I'm a talented guy," he added with what I took for a knowing smile. There was no doubt what he meant. This was the first time I'd really got to take a close look at Ron, notwithstanding how 'close' we'd been in the beach episode. He wasn't an unattractive man at all. He had a warm smile and nice brown eyes. Quite a contrast with Darren, who looked more like a guy who had done a lot of blue collar work. I mean, who can tell, but in his appearance he had a certainly ruggedness to him that you don't normally find in desk jockeys. Not unappealingly – he wasn't a bad looking guy, either – just a little out of the ordinary.

As for the campaign, we still weren't out of the woods yet; there was still a lot to be done as I looked at my watch – 6pm. This was going to be a late one. Pretty much the rest of the company had gone home by now, and Darren got on the phone to order pizzas. When they arrived we took a short break. The guys broke out some beers from the company fridge. I was rather exhausted after what was turning out to be a very a long day, and after the gym workout the night before, and the beer was a welcome respite. I took off my jacket and relaxed into the chair, putting my feet up on the board room table as we shared the pizzas. It was very hot in the room, I noticed, and the guys had long ago shed their coats. Darren had taken his tie off. Both their brows were sweating.

"Can we turn the air up a bit?" I asked.

"It's on full," said Darren. "There's a fault with the system. The guys are coming tomorrow to fix it."

I noticed as he spoke that he was giving my legs the once over, and I thought that maybe resting them up on the table was perhaps a little too casual of me. As for the heat of the room, it was lucky I was wearing light clothing: short beige skirt and thin white blouse. I noticed both guys eyeing me off earlier, but I didn't mind too much. And really, we were having a very productive evening under stressful conditions, and maybe that slight amount of sexual tension helped spark things along on the ideas front. It was fun working with those guys; they had a good handle on things from a marketing perspective. It looked like we'd be able to pull this off.

Back to work, I pulled out my lap top and started on some layout roughs. Darren was busy writing out the presentation to fit the new material; Ron was standing over me making suggestions as I worked on the design.

"That's good," he said, "pointing to the screen, his other hand resting on my shoulder. I felt his touch like a little jolt, like a physical memory of our beach encounter. He left his hand there for a while before removing it. All the while he stood over me I was keenly aware of his presence in a physical sense, even when his hand wasn't on my shoulder. I couldn't see him behind me; he was just there. I idly glanced down my body as I typed. The top button on my blouse must have come undone, I noticed now, and I was showing a little more cleavage than I might have normally intended. Sitting there so long, my skirt had ridden up a little too high as well, and, in the heat of the room, I didn't have my legs crossed. I had a fair idea that Ron was concentrating as much on my body as he was on the screen. Yet I didn't mind. For a minute my mind flashed back to that day on the beach, when he got a lot farther than simply looking at my legs. I wondered, aware of his gaze over my shoulder, if he was thinking something similar. But none of this really put me off; this was grueling work putting this thing together, and a little light hearted flirtatious interplay was just something to sweeten up the hard grind. And soon we had the makings of a finished product.

I slumped back in the chair, satisfied with my efforts. We were there. It was almost 10 o'clock, and after so much sitting at the computer my already sore muscles were really aching. I reached back and rubbed my shoulder blade as Ron read the finished product over my shoulder.

"Sore back?" he said.

"Yeah. Too many hours at the computer."

"Let me do it."

I really should have said no, what with our history, but after such a long day it was just what I needed. And, I had to admit, I knew how good this man was with his hands. I wondered whether Darren knew about 'the beach'.

Ron began to massage my back, down between my shoulder blades. Yes, it was as though the physical memory of him was etched into my body, my skin. Upon that realization I felt a twinge of embarrassment. What if Darren did know?

"Well, we're pretty much done," said Darren looking up from his screen. "You want some more beers?"

Ron and I both nodded. As Darren went off to grab the beers, Ron continued his massage. He was up on my shoulders now, massaging gently but firmly. I could feel his fingers working into my skin through the material of the blouse, pushing deep into the muscles, but not too hard. His touch was subtle, knowing somehow. And there was a sensuousness to the way his fingers, his hands, moved over my shoulders; long, languid, rhythmic strokes. It felt fantastic. I felt my body begin to relax under his touch. As he worked the muscles of the tops of my shoulder a little harder, he was gripping the material of my blouse as his fingers worked my skin. Glancing down my body, I noticed that my blouse was bulging out the opening in the front, so that at least half of my bra could be seen. I didn't know whether he was doing it deliberately, but I knew that from his vantage point he could see right down the front of my blouse. I felt slightly unnerved, but I was enjoying the massage too much. I leaned forward and took the fresh beer Darren handed me.

"Lucky you!" Darren said as he watched Ron massaging me. The way he said it, I wasn't sure whether he was referring to me or Ron. I thought I ought to answer him, so that it was taken as read that he meant me.

"Yeah, lucky me. This is just what I need – I think I pushed too hard at the gym last night."

"Well, a good massage after going to the gym is always good," Darren said, taking a huge slug of his beer. He put his beer down, clapped his hands down on his thighs and stood up, saying: "Here, let me do your legs."

This was heading into dangerous waters. There were alarms going off in my brain. Ron's massage was innocent enough, but to have Darren do my legs as well, just the three of us here late at night? It wasn't an appropriate thing to be doing in a work environment.

"No thanks," I said, "I'll be fine."

"Oh come on, Anne," I heard Ron's voice over my shoulder. "You'll feel so much better after a decent massage."

That was true, of course, and I already was feeling a whole lot better. And just a little bit horny, I might add. There were still the lingering frustrations I felt in the wake of the strip night, along with the gym experience with Steve and looking up at that big cock of his, and Ron's fingers were certainly hitting the spot just right. I thought of what he had just said – he knew only too well how much 'better' I felt after a 'decent' massage. Another reason why I should call a halt to this.