Kathryn Olivia Braithwaite was a senior at high school. Kathryn had been the name of her mother's favorite grandmother, well dead before the younger Kathryn was born. Olivia was in honor of Olivia Newton John; for some unspoken reason ONJ had been dear to the hearts of both her parents. And Braithwaite was a throwback to a British ancestry that no one knew anything about. Kathryn Olivia Braithwaite. K.O.B. Ever since those initials had appeared on her school satchel at Elementary School, Kathryn had been 'Kob' to her friends and teachers. Kob, a name that was bright and interesting and colorful, a throwback to the art-deco of the early 20th century - it suited Kob's personality perfectly. She was bright and sharp and good-hearted.
Kob was also beautiful. More than beautiful, she was gorgeous - much to the surprise of everyone. Almost all her days as a teen were skinny and gangly. She was near-sighted but didn't like wearing glasses, so Kob stumbled her way through life not knowing quite where she was. At the rear her jeans had dragged down from her ass. It was difficult to get her bikini to sit still, there was so little to hold it there, top or bottom. She had used the same conservative hairdresser as her mother. She was nice, people liked her, but she was well down the wish-list when it came to dating.
During her last year of high school though, amazingly, Kob turned. In the months before her eighteenth birthday her jeans became tight, not around the waist but in the hips. Her bikini top didn't just sit firm; it lifted away from her torso. Her mother finally relented and let her use the stylist her friend Maggie used, and she put away her fear of having things in her eye and got her first pair of contacts.
The effect was startling. From nowhere guys smiled and said hi as they passed. She caught them staring at her in class. The 'popular' guys started making small talk and getting closer, the nerds who had been her friends began to shrink nervously away. To her credit Kob's ego developed slower than her body. As she turned 18 she was a gorgeous young woman who acted like she didn't know it. It was her friend Maggie who pressed her hardest to start behaving like a babe.
"So! Who are you going to go with?" Maggie persisted as they sat by the front school-gate. They were in the gardens, seated on a table with their feet on the bench chairs, their skirts pushed demurely and unfashionably between their legs. "Who are you going to go with?"
"I don't know...," Kob replied, embarrassed.
"Who do you want to ask you?" Maggie pressed.
Maggie knew the answer to the question already, but she wanted to hear Kob say it, to acknowledge it.
"I don't know..."
"Oh, you liar, you do so know!" Maggie screamed at her, pushing her shoulder. "Tell me you bitch, say his name, go on say it!"
Kob was grinning and went bright red.
"What are you two playing at?" came the male voice from behind Maggie. What awful timing for Kob. It was him, Matt, the one both of them knew Kob liked.
"Matt!" yelled Maggie. "Good to see you. We were just talking about who was going to ask Kob to go to the..."
"Maggie, leave it alone," Kob interrupted, pulling her friend's hair back.
"Oh, you bitch," Maggie laughed and took Kob by the collar so they both fell back onto the tabletop. Matt looked away at first, but turned back, smiling. Their skirts no longer held cover as the two girls wrestled.
"Matt?" Maggie managed to yell out as Kob scrambled to put a hand to her mouth to stop her from talking. "Wouldn't you...agh, get off slut...wouldn't you like to...go with...agh you bitch...ha ha ha...wouldn't you like to go with Kob?"
"Maggie! Stop it!"
Matt crossed his arms and rolled on his heels as the two girls kept at each other. He said nothing as they both laughed and screamed in battle, thighs and underwear flashing.
"She's not just good looking you know...I'll fucking bite you if you do that again...agh...she's got money, too...ha ha ha...you've seen her Mom's car...ha ha ha!"
"Maggie!" Kob shrilled at her.
"That's because her Dad is in bed with the mafia," came a dry insult from above and behind them. Both girls froze and turned their heads. Wendy Varvatos. Kob and Maggie sat and straightened themselves. Wendy had only been half-kidding. Kob had heard some of the rumors from time to time, people teasing her about her Dad's company. 'Ignore people's jealously' her mother would say.
"Good to see you too, Wendy," Matt tried to lighten and change the mood. "Anything nice to talk about? Some new movie you'd like to see?"
Wendy smiled falsely and kept walking.
"Bitch," Maggie murmured, looking at her walk away. "So, Matt, are you going to ask..."
"Aaah," Kob screamed at her and it started again, this time up and chasing each other around the courtyard.
Matt drifted back to his friends, grinning. They hadn't told anyone, but he and Kob were already together.
********************
Michael Geoffrey Braithwaite had no nickname. Not even Mike. He was either Mr Braithwaite, or Michael, or Daddy. He was the owner, founder and CEO of Double Rubber Inc., a diverse manufacturer that continued to shine as the competition relocated operations to Asia or Central America. When they first started it was all about rubber - now it did everything but, though the name had stuck. Michael's days were not as long as they used to be. Double Rubber Inc. had become a true corporation with a board and a panel of genuinely skilled executives. Well, except for that Douglas fool, you could hardly classify him as skilled - but what could you expect from HR, Michael had never been able to get one he rated. Michael kept his diary full as he could and watched over a lot of meetings, though he prepared less and less of them. So early one Friday afternoon while he sat in an audit presentation he saw his wife's name on his vibrating mobile and excused himself to step out to take it.
"Honey, what's up?" Michael asked quietly. The response he got sent a shiver up his spine.
"The brotherhood is at the door, about to enter. It will only stop in your presence. You need to come home," she said. It was followed by a gasp and muffled scream, then the phone went dead.
Ordinarily if someone got a scripted call like that from their wife it would baffle; the first reaction would be to call back, to see what the hell all that nonsense was about. Michael didn't call back. He anxiously stepped into the meeting and gestured for his CFO. In the corridor Michael said nothing more than he had a family thing at home, he needed to go, and that the finance head was in charge.
"When are you going to be back?"
"I don't know, maybe not until Monday."
"Okay. Well, but, then what about the thing with Old Man Rigola, you've got him at 5 don't you?"
Michael shook his head.
"Don't worry about it," he said turning on his heel, "Old Man Rigola won't be here today."
The CFO shook his head and shrugged as he returned to the auditors. Michael stopped himself from running down the corridor and across the expanse of his office. He took his keys, wallet and phone and dashed out past his assistant.
"Turn that off will you? Gotta go."
********************
Marjorie Watson-Braithwaite had no middle name, and she was shortened to Marj. The first time she met Michael Geoffrey Braithwaite she was only Marjorie Watson, and she was completely out of her head drunk. At the university tavern there was a space in the back corner with a table that had a pole running up to the roof. It wasn't designed for pole dancing specifically but usually on a Friday night in the heaving, messy time before midnight when people were drunk but still standing, some crazy girls took the challenge. Marj was never one of those girls. Never. If anything she was a prude. But that one night back in the nineties (when bars were still fun) she lost herself to her new friend Mojito - mint, lime and rummy goodness that does crazy things to normal people.
The crowd bayed for clothes and she gave them. Her t-shirt, her skirt, she took them off and made nooky with the pole in her underwear, thrashing her hair around to a chorus of applause. Her body was good back in those days. Marj wasn't tall but her legs were long in proportion, she had the thighs of a model and her ass turned heads, especially without a skirt. Her breasts were strong and upright. People were throwing one dollar bills at her to take off more, begging and pleading for her to lose the bra. It was as noisy as it had ever been, Marj was a popular act.
Someone lifted another glass of mint, lime and rummy goodness to her and she downed it in one, holding onto the pole to keep herself standing. To the roar of the crowd she fumbled with her bra hook. It took ages for her to get it undone, but that only added to the suspense, the crowd chanting 'off, off, off'. Eventually Marj obliged. People were wowed by how tight she was.
Marj had been to topless beaches of course, it wasn't the completely first time she had shown her tits to strange men, but beaches are relatively demure. On a beach you can roll over onto your stomach if you feel a creepy guy come near or need a break from the attention. Rarely are there 200 people whistling and cheering and yelling 'tits, tits'. Fortunately her friend Mojito kept her from dying of embarrassment and she did the best she could to dance the pole as it deserved to be danced.
Right at the front of the crowd was a large and rugged chap waving a $20 bill. As people pushed and shoved around him he stood firm. As they screamed and whistled he stood silent. All he did was look at her eyes, not her tits, with a confident wink and a wave of the twenty between two fingers.
"What?" Marj found herself slurring at him.
The guy nodded at something, but she had a blurry moment and missed it.
"What?" she yelled again over the din.
"Your pants," he coolly replied.
Back in the early nineties, twenty bucks was a decent bit of money, especially for a poor uni student. Beers were only 1.50, so that was like 12 beers or something, her mind stupidly considered. A sober person would be thinking $20 for losing your entire dignity to a crowd of 200 lecherous men is madness, but Marj was not a sober person. She was still thinking 12 beers, or was it thirteen, or even fourteen? And the guy asking, he was so cool, so confident. And he had twenty bucks to give away just like that. Was he rich?
Marj had never had her pants off in front of anyone other than a boyfriend. Robotically her fingers pulled on the elastic waist and slid them over her hips. Her panties moved down her ass, then her thighs. They fell to her ankles and she stumbled and kicked them accidentally into the crowd. The mob roared approval. Marj gave her vagina to the eyes of two-hundred wildly delirious men. She didn't dance anymore, she stood there facing them, wondering if she would ever again in her life be so stupid or so popular as she was at that moment.
Six minutes later she was in the men's toilet with Michael Geoffrey Braithwaite's dick firmly entrenched in her cunt. With the door to the stall open, a band of men humiliatingly yet thrillingly watched her cunt lips part and close around the erection that was humping up at her. She never did find her clothes.
From that night, the next four months were madness. Marj almost lost her degree because of it. What started as completely-out-of-the-ordinary behavior became ordinary behavior. Marj rarely went home, staying at Michael's place sharing his room and sharing his flat-mates. They all had her, all the time. She drifted from room to room fucking them all, drunk and high on any number of products. They turned her into a lesbian, regularly 69ing other girls on the living room floor as a show for all their friends. The taste of pussy became 'normal' to her.
Whoever visited was asked 'have you had Marj yet?' and she would walk over and fuck them, in front of everyone. It was a disaster.
It only stopped, Marj only got her life back when she became pregnant. She guessed it was Michael's, but who knew? Almost everybody had cum in her.
