School for Nurses (13 page)

‘Come on, honey,' Frank said softly, ‘don't be shy. Come out from behind the table.'

‘And what if I don't?' I asked defiantly.

‘What do you mean?' Billy beat Frank to the question, eagerly hoping I could find a way out of this for us.

‘What if you play another hand?' I asked.

‘What else you got to offer?' Frank's smile never wavered.

‘I wouldn't get up from behind this table,' I said.

‘You've
got
to get up,' Billy said, looking worried.

‘I don't have to get up from behind this table,' I said, clenching my hands in my lap. ‘I won't get up from it and take my panties off for you three lechers, but...' I looked into Frank's eyes. ‘I could get down under it...'

‘What are you talking about?' My husband looked pale.

Frank's smile vanished as his stare became penetratingly intense.

‘Another hand,' I said, ‘and you better win, Billy, because I'm going to get under this table and blow whoever wins the next hand. Double or quits for the money, Frank.'

Frank nodded. Billy had his head in his hands. I sank down even further in my chair and tried to make like I was as brave as I sounded. I just knew I wasn't about to show my bare bottom to the four of them in my own parlour.

The cards fell again. I don't suppose you have a hard time imagining how Billy played. He bet an even stupider hand than usual against Frank's brilliant hand. I suspect Frank cheats, but that doesn't count for much when it comes time to collect.

Billy crushed his cards when he lost. Why it came as such a surprise to him, or to me for that matter, I don't know, but the fact is it shocked us seeing all those aces lying in front of Frank like goal posts. There was no doubt about the fact that I was going to have to crawl over there now and make him happy.

Mike and Eddie refused to leave, and Billy said he had a right to watch, and I was too shocked to argue. I slipped under the table, and I could see all their heads peering down at me as I crawled on all fours across the floor to Frank's knees. His hard-on was enormous inside his black slacks, which made unzipping them difficult as his bulge pressed up against his fly. To my left, Billy's moon-like face was panting in distress, and in the darkness beneath the table, I detected the starry glimmer of tears on his cheeks. My own eyes were completely dry as I wet my lips.

‘That's it, baby,' Frank said. He was the only one not looking down at me, the only one who didn't seem interested in watching me do this thing.

I reached into his slacks and eased his cock gently out of his fly, careful not to let it brush his zipper's jagged metal teeth. His head was a hot purple, and his thick shaft was deep red all the way down. I grasped it gently in my hand as it thrust rigidly out at me.

‘That's it now, baby,' I heard him say through the table. ‘I've dreamed of you doing this. Now, put me in your mouth.'

I licked him with the tip of my tongue. He tasted salty, he tasted of pre-cum and salt, and I liked his flavour. I slipped my lips over his head, and he bucked up to meet me. Slipping lower in his chair, he cradled my neck in one hand and pushed down on the back of my head. I leaned down to swallow him more deeply, and he pushed my face into his lap and thrust himself into my throat. His fingers in my hair, he moved my head up and down slowly at first, and then fast and faster until he suddenly held me hard against him and made me swallow while he pumped and pumped and pumped his pleasure down my throat and I nearly choked. I closed my eyes but I could still hear Mike and Eddie laughing as they watched me blow their buddy, and watched Bill watching his wife going down on another man right in front of him.

Billy was the one who insisted on spanking me for the family honour, but it was really just to make himself feel better. I guess he had to prove he was still a man. He said I had to be punished for being unfaithful.

‘If I should be punished for being unfaithful,' I retorted, ‘then what should you be for losing all that money in the first place?'

Of course, he didn't see it that way. He had me stick my bottom out over one end of the table and suffer stinging licks from his thin leather belt. I had bought him that belt when we were first married, and it hurt like hell to have it kissing my skin even through my hose and panties. I cried out so loudly after the third lash that he stopped, saying maybe I had learned my lesson already. The three other men clearly enjoyed watching me being beaten. Frank asked Billy how much he would charge to let each one of them take a belt to me, and my husband punched him in the mouth.

Well, after that it was all natural enough, in a way. After Frank beat Billy up, things got settled. First, Eddie told Billy what he owed him personally, and then Mike explained how he had notes going back for years. So I was forced to take them off. Yes, I took my panties off, finally, but I did it under the table. I lay back and eased my white lace panties down my legs along with my black pantyhose while they all looked down at me. Then Eddie felt me between my legs, kissed me on the lips, and fucked me. I closed my eyes and crossed my knees over his back as he rode me, diving deep into my pussy, and Billy cried and hid his face in his hands.

Then, of course, there was that little matter of Mike's tab. Billy owed him more money than anyone, so I agreed to his demands. Billy went and got a pillow, and I buried my face in it while Mike fucked my tight little bottom. He greased me up with some butter first, and then slid into me slowly, almost tenderly. And when he came in my rear passage, he kissed the back of my neck and said, ‘Thanks, sweetheart.' That's more than Billy ever did when he took me from behind like that.

Which brings me back to Billy. He doesn't fuck me any more, he says he can't. Which is why I guess he likes his friends to play cards with me, in the sense that they play for my bottom, my pussy, my mouth, and my breasts. No, Billy doesn't fuck me any more, which is why, I suppose, he loves it when his friends come by every Thursday and Friday night and he can watch me where I sit under the table sucking their cocks, one after the other.

 

 

 

Anna worked on the high street where the second-hand shops and charity stores blended in with the fine boutiques. Her breasts were lovely and generous, and men would stop as they passed the dress boutique where she worked and stare at her. Yet she scarcely seemed to notice them as she stood on the opposite side of the usually rain-streaked glass hoping for something better in life. She was tired of just standing in a dress shop wearing tight-fitting black clothes, with her blonde hair pinned up in a cute little bun to make her neck look even longer than it was and to enhance the fullness of her breasts. The management liked her large bosom because it attracted customers, mainly men out buying a gift for their wives or girlfriends and indulging themselves in the process. They would walk in off the street, and looking a little embarrassed would ask her if she could help them pick something out for someone special.

‘What size is she?' she would ask professionally.

And they would invariably reply, ‘Oh, just about your size.'

She would then say, ‘Follow me,' while thinking,
In your dreams
!

On this particular day, Anna was pining away as usual. She was standing at the window, tugging her black sweater down to smooth out her shapely silhouette in the tight black dress, when the old fool who ran the charity shop across the street,
Second Hands
, wove his way through the busy traffic and entered the store. He was about six-feet tall and dressed in a chequered shirt that smelled faintly of damp and mildew.

‘Can I help you?' Anna asked a bit dismissively. She had occasionally caught him looking out at her, and she had not liked the way he focused on her breasts.

‘I've come to see the manager about a little problem,' the old man wheezed slightly as he spoke. ‘There's a little something he might want to know about. Well, he might not
want
to know about it, but then again, he might. Know what I mean?' He winked at her.

‘I'm sure I don't,' Anna replied. ‘In any event, you can talk to me. The manager won't be in until later today, and maybe not until tomorrow.'

‘You authorised?' He may once have been handsome, but years of hard living had taken their toll. The smell of damp clothing hung around him like old smoke.

‘I run the shop,' Anna said briskly. ‘What can I do for you?' She was hoping a client would come in and force this conversation to a swift conclusion.

‘We've been getting your coats,' the old man said. His eyes twinkled as he eyed her up and down, beginning with her feet in black high-heels and ending with her golden hair. ‘We been getting your coats in our store as donations, and I don't think that lot's been paid for. Know what I mean? Come and take a look.'

She said she couldn't possibly leave the store during business hours, but she would tell the manager, and if he did not come in today, then she would go see for herself later.

‘All right, suit yourself,' he said, ‘but don't wait too long. I can't keep them off the shelf forever. We got homeless to cater for. All right, little one?'

‘Don't call me that, please. I'll see what I can do about visiting your shop later.'

He smiled, and practically skipped back across the street.

 

Anna stepped into the store with its charity smell of damp old clothes and used linen. It was just gone six o'clock when her manager had arrived to count the money, and sent her off to see what this nonsense was about as he licked his thumb on piles of twenty and fifty-pound notes.

The old man was expecting her. ‘In the back,' he said with a glee she found altogether too frisky. And what bothered her was that his gentlemanly mannerisms were awaking a strange Sunday afternoon movie nostalgia in her as she imagined what he must have looked like forty years ago. He must have been a handsome man, and it made her sad to see him now, so old and shrivelled. ‘In the back,' he repeated, looking into her bright young eyes with his own equally bright old ones. ‘I've got it all ready for you, little one.'

‘If you insist,' she said wearily. ‘I've got to be back across the street to see my boss in...' her breath caught in mid-sentence when she stepped into the back room. She had steeled herself for the miserable sight of racks hung with old worn-out clothes, but what she walked into instead was a veritable treasure trove. If she hadn't known better she would have thought she was back across the street. Every coat they had ever sold seemed to be here. Every dress she had ever modelled herself and gift-wrapped was here. Every dress too expensive to stock more than two or three of hung in this back room by the dozens. ‘What on earth have you been doing?' she demanded breathlessly.

‘Sit down,' he told her.

She felt a chair pushing against the backs of her legs. ‘Thank you,' she said, as her knees gave way beneath her.

‘It started with one or two.' The old man sat down and leaned towards her in a conspiratorial way, his eyebrows a shining salt-and-pepper beneath the overhead light. ‘My name is Walker,' he told her, ‘Pat Walker, but everybody calls me Pat because I like to pat. Know what I mean?' He smiled at her, and she felt that strangely stimulating Sunday afternoon and old movies sensation stir in her belly again. ‘One day,' he went on, ‘there were one or two dresses in a bag, and then a coat. Then one day, there was an entire rack!'

‘No,' she gasped.

‘Out back,' he said, ‘under the balcony, out of the rain. Nice gear, this lot, not your usual muck.'

‘We sell only the best to young women,' she explained, quickly estimating the value of this amazing back room. How could her manager not know about this?

‘I know your young women,' the old man said dismissively. ‘Not one of them comes here to say hello.'

‘Well...' Anna shifted her legs beneath her. The skirt she was wearing today was short, and more of her thighs were exposed to his eyes than she would have liked.

He touched her arm. ‘I don't mean they should give of themselves,' he said, ‘just a hello. It's a cold, cruel world for the homeless, and even for those who care for them. A “hello” in the right place saves a thousand pounds of stolen goods. And a little squeeze...' He put his hand on hers. She could not believe it, but with all the naturalness in the world, as though her body belonged to him, he touched one of her breasts, resting his hand gently and appreciatively on its swelling warmth.

‘I don't believe this,' Anna leapt up out of the chair. ‘How dare you, you filthy old...?'

‘Now, now, little one, Pat didn't mean to startle you.'

‘Don't call me that!'

‘That's what your granddad called you, isn't?'

‘None of your business! I'll tell my boss you've got... some merchandise of his!'

‘You do that,' he said, and smiled as she fled.

 

Her boss, an Iranian businessman who always wore a black leather coat and was balding, had no time for this. ‘Go get the coats and the dresses, all of it! It's your fault they went missing in the first place. I knew this store lost money!'