Little Miss Anything

"Oh, God, I'm so bored," I thought, as I struggled into the old basic-black sheath dress. The old black bra had gone on first, the old black pantyhose were next. The old plain heels were last. No surprises.

Oh, rats, at least one surprise. Run in pantyhose. And I hate garter belts and hose.

"Same old dinner, same old party. Same old, same old..." I continued in my mind. "Maybe I can meet someone. Anyone. We can talk and flirt a bit, then Tye will have to leave early, and leave me behind, and he'll offer me a ride home, an' half way there he'll just reach over an' kiss me, an' shove his hand under my dress, an' I'll moan, an' unzip the back an' shove my tits in his face an'..."

The accelerating, faceless fantasy was shattered by Tye's dull voice. "You almost ready, Chaz?"

"I suppose so," my voice came back, dully.

"Then we oughta go soon."

"Yeah, we oughta," echoed Tye, sounding just as bored.

"Uh huh..." I let the words and thought just run out and away, like sand dribbling from a shattered hourglass. Ours had just about run out, too.

Tye slouched toward the car, and I followed in silence. God, we used to talk to each other, even that. What happened to the marriage? We drove off into the early evening. By the time we'd get there, it'd be night, and by the time we'd get back it'd be late, and we'd get up on Saturday, and yawn, and he'd do his house and yard things, and I'd cook and clean.

"There had to be something else: is this all there is," I thought. As the car bumped and lurched down the narrow country lane, I leaned my head back in silence, and just remembered.

Named Penolope Chastity Yablonski, I took up calling myself, in college, first Chastity, then quickly, Chaz. I quickly met and married Olff Tyvaggerson McHenery, which he fast-laned to Tye. First an English professor, then in Insurance, now a market research writer, we made out OK, but nothing special. So here we are, kids grown and gone, decent country house, decent lives, decent social life, decent dull, dull, dull.

"OK, so I'm in my 40's, so what," I continued to myself. "My hair's not grey: well, not much. My waist is still pretty slender. Nice legs, I walk alot, alone. Still got my breasts." I felt the flare of temper, if only in my own mind, "OK, I've still got my Tits! So they're small, B-size (boobettes, really), but firm, not much sag, and nice, suckable, dark nipples..." The flare died as it'd flamed. "Much good all that does me, no one uses them any more. I'd like to meet someone (that faceless man, again), and stare at him, so that he'd know, without saying a word, that I wanted him to rip it out and thrust into...

Tye's voice broke in to my reverie, with a jolt. "Do you wanna stop for some coffee?"

Huh? But I replied, "I dunno, do you?"

I saw his lips tighten. "Well, do you or don't you?"

Damnit, how to break out of this spiral? But all I heard myself say was, "I dunno...whatever you want."

"We've gotta talk, so here's OK." He pulled out of the road, and into a cafe. One of those little out-of-the-way places you don't think twice about, except when you need coffee and talk. Food out front, a lounge back behind, a private members- only club. This was unpredictable, at least. What did he want?

I suppose it should have been a bombshell. Mostly, it was a fizzle. Both of us. Let's not play it out, line by line, you know what's coming. He'd been thinking about a divorce. I'd been daydreaming about a separation. He'd had an affair. I knew about it. I'd had fantasies, up to 20 a day, about other men; sometimes two, three, up to five men at once. He knew about most of them (I talk in my sleep, it seems). I never did anything about my fantasies.

He was bored. I was bored. Both of us, no something, no...zest. Nowhere to go. Even this conversation was boring, dull, flat. What was wrong here?

"So, that's it," Tye said, heavily.

"Looks like it," I replied, lifeless voiced.

"So let's go back to the house. I'll call the party and cancel out. You wanna do that?"

"I dunno, whatever you want."

He paid, and we left. The car wasn't over 30' from the cafe's door. We moved toward the car. Just a few steps.

In those few steps, panic flared inside. "It's ending," a voice screamed inside me, "do something!" What? "Anything?" What should I do? "You're going to loose him, right now. DO IT!" What was 'IT'? The car door opened, and I settled into my side of the seat. Tye got in, closed the door, and reached for the key to start the car.

The tiny voice startled even me. It came from my throat, OK, but I swear I didn't start to say, "Don't. I'll do anything."

Tye startled. He swung his eyes around toward me. They were wide. He looked over, giving me his full attention. "Say that again."

The voice continued to come out of me. I didn't fight it. But what was I getting into, as I heard, "I'll do anything if you don't go?"

A little smile played around his lips. It was the first smile I'd seen on his face in weeks. "You know," he ventured, "'anything' covers a lot of ground." I saw him lick his lips just a little (I don't even think he knew he did it). "You sure you'll do 'anything' to keep us going?"

Silent, the tiny voice quiet, all I could do was nod, just a bit. Suddenly I realized my breasts were aching, the nipples full, hard, stretched. And I was wet! I couldn't help it, my hand went up to massage my left breast, and I crossed and un- crossed my legs, over and over. Damn, I could feel the hard nipple through bra, and dress. It felt like it was hard enough to see across the parking lot!

"When shall we start with 'anything'," Tye asked, openly smiling now?

I stammered something about going back to the house, and taking it slow at first, talking it out.

He shook his head, slowly. "Uh-uh. I know you, Chaz? You'll want to intellectualize it, rationalize decisions, talk it over and over, suck all the emotion out of it with words. We start it right now, or no go."

My head bobbed up, down, once. I was trembling too bad to speak. What was happening? Was I letting go? The tiny voice said, "yeah, let go..."

I looked up to see he had the car phone out, and was canceling us out of the party. At the last moment. What was he up to?

"OK, little miss 'anything', I want to see lots. Lots of leg. Lots of tit. Lots of ass. I wan' a hot fuckin' exhibitionist bitch. One that likes to show it off. One that likes to DO IT! An' I want it right now!"

My head bobbed up, down, again. I was too tensed up to speak. And was I getting wetter? I started to pull up my skirt an inch or so.

"Oh, no, you don't. I want 'lots'." Then he took out his little pocket knife, and started to work on the side seam of my black sheath outfit.

So I was 'little miss anything' now. I'll show him 'anything'. "Higher," I hissed, "cut it higher!" Working carefully, me holding the material and him cutting away the threads, he slit open my skirt. To the knee. To the mid-thigh. To the upper thigh. To the place just below the hip. Tight before, I was shocked to see my leg, thigh and hip emerge from the material. I could see my panties and the garter belt holding up the hose. Shocked...and turned on, too. I thought, looking at the exposed hose-covered skin, "not bad, not bad at all: trim, nice and smooth." I stroked my leg with my own hand, as if it were someone else's. It felt really good, kind of shivery warm.

"Hmmm," I reacted, "let's do some more of this."

Tye was looking at me, considering. His hands reached out, fingered my black cotton panties. "Looks like he wants a quick feel," I thought.

I couldn't have been more wrong.

With a quick flip, my now-ruined dress was open to the waist. His hand reached out, grabbed a handful of the panties, and, with powerful pull, ripped them off my body. "I'm sure glad they were old one, or I'd have marks," I thought to myself. At least in words, because what I felt was shock, exposure...surge of intense pleasure. I was in a car, in a well-lighted public parking lot. My skirt was opened to the waist. A MAN had just torn off my panties. My dripping (?) fur was exposed to the light. Anybody walking by could see straight up my...

God, I didn't think my nipples could get any harder, but they did. He took the ruined material, slowly wadded it up into a ball, rolled down his window, and threw my panties out onto the parking lot. I was still stroking my exposed hip and thigh with one hand, and squeezing my breast with the other. I swear I could feel each seam and pucker in my dress through my now-bare buttocks, and even feel the parking-lot lights with my lower belly.

I felt him take my arms, and place them both under my own head, against the car's headrest, growling, "leave them there!" Didn't he want me to hold him as he kissed me?

No. I felt his fingers on my fur, sliding down into my (shockingly) wet opening. I looked at his face, and it was fixed in an expression of...just fixed, I don't know what. The fingers, I think two or three, I couldn't tell, probed lower, working my vagina lips apart. Then...

Oh, God! With one smooth, plunging motion, all those fingers slipped-slid into me. He started a smooth, in-and-out motion, and it felt so good. As a pressure started building in me, I bucked my hips to match his motion. I gasped, something like, "that's it, pump my vagina." He growled at me, shockingly, "Fuck that word, 'vagina', bitch. Don't use 'vagina' again unless I say so."

"What do I call it, then," I thought, but the words came un- bidder to my gasping lips. "Feel my cunt," I gasped as the pressure climbed. I started to have images course through my brain. Images of bare bodies. Men, faceless naked men. Cocks, bare stiff cocks. Lots of them. Entering me, pulling out, slippery and shiny, going back in, thrusting, pushing, squeezing, cum pushing, thrusting CUMcum faceless hands holding, grabbing, tearing at clothes CUMCUM C U M M I N G cumming cumming mmmmmmmm.

I orgasmed, groaning and gasping, shoving my body up away from the car seat, twisting, pushing to shove his fingers--his hand--further into me. And collapsing, to slowly let the congestion run out. I saw Tye pull his fingers out, and slowly lick his hand, covered in my lubricated juices. He watched as I slowly stopped caressing myself, and came to.

I hadn't cum that way, that hard, in years! The car seemed to reek of girl-sex and cum-juice.

Then he said, almost matter-of-factly, "Now, let's go get something sinfully chocolate to eat." And he opened the car door, got out, held my door open (!) and waited for me to emerge. All this, after I'd been finger-fucked in the parking lot where anyone could see in and catch me having sex...having, in public...I couldn't even think it. He escorted me back into the cafe, looking like a shameless hussy, probably smelling like a she-cat in heat. And I loved it.