Bosom Bondage Buddies

by Brandy Dewinter

  

Chapter 15 - Tart, Twenty-Six, and Never Been Kissed

 

"The night's too young to go home already," Billie Jo offered.

"Where do you suppose we should go?" Kelly asked with overdone innocence.

"Oh, I don't know, just cruise around I suppose," Billie Jo answered.

"What do you two have cooked up now?" I demanded. Billie Jo clearly had a destination in mind. She had driven directly to an entrance ramp and was now sliding through traffic on the freeway.

"She doesn't trust us," Billie Jo lamented, smiling through her fake concern.

"No," Kelly agreed, "she's had a suspicious mind ever since I've known her. I can't imagine why."

"Okay, you two. I'll go anywhere you'll go with me," I declared, taking up the challenge inherent in their words.

"Promises, promises," Kelly laughed.

In a few minutes we left the freeway and were soon pulling into the parking lot of a nightclub featuring male strippers. Though I thought I had achieved a full commitment to Brandy, I found that I could still be embarrassed. My blush as I recognized our destination provided a fiery reminder of my earlier sensitivity to looking female. Just how much would I have to act like a female tonight? I wondered.

Even the waiters in this place were good-looking and the hunting look was soon back in Billie Jo's eyes. We were escorted to a table fairly close to the elevated stage and ordered a round of drinks. All around us were giggling, nervous women, most of whom were older and less attractive than our party, but all seemed determined to have a good time. In an acceptably short while the lights went down which caused an expectant hush to fall over the crowd. When the lights came up, there were a half dozen cowboys on the stage, dressed in long coats with hats pulled down over their eyes.

From somewhere, hard driving rock music began and the cowboys began to move to the music. At the first pelvic thrust, a woman somewhere hooted and the audience came to life, then laughing, whistling, cheering women from all sides called to the dancers with encouragements of all sort. Soon the cowboys were tossing hats and pulling loose bandanas. I was not surprised to notice that Kelly was cheering as enthusiastically as the rest, since she had always been so open and excitable. I was surprised to hear Billie Jo shouting as well, though in her case it didn't seem like a request.

I felt a tap on my shoulder and turned to see a tall motorcycle cop looking down on me.

"Miss Brandy Dewinter?" he asked.

"Yes," I stammered in confusion, my heart caught in my throat. I know I should have realized immediately what was going on, but my fear at getting "caught in the act" was still very near the surface and the appearance of this authority figure was enough to put my higher reasoning powers on hold as panic set in.

"Do you have any ID?" his questions continued.

"Yes," I mumbled again as I started going through my purse for my new driver's license, trying to remember where I put it. My long nails kept getting in the way, making me fumble like an idiot. Finally I found the pocketbook it was in and held it up to him.

"Hmm," he mused as he returned it to me. "Would you read for me the birthday that is shown on that license?"

I almost gave out my real birthday in reflex, but I was finally coming out of my shock. This cop had on large aviator sunglasses though the room was fairly dark except on the stage. He probably couldn't have read my ID or birthday if he needed to. That must have been the first clue that something was not right in this situation. I looked at Kelly, who still had her patented innocent expression, then at Billie Jo who was choking to contain her laughter. Looking at my license with sick certainty, I saw that the birthday was that very day, of course.

"You set me up!" I accused Kelly.

She nodded happily.

"And you knew about it," I glared at Billie Jo.

Too choked to speak, she could only nod as well.

"Ma'am," the pseudo-cop said, "you'll have to come with me."

With that, he gently but firmly grasped my arms, stood me up, and turned me around, facing our little table. He bent me forward over the table and pulled my hands behind me. In a second, I felt handcuffs click and my arms were securely bound. All I could think of was Kelly's admonition the first time I had gone out as Brandy to sit carefully and not bend over. The cop had me bent far over the table and I could feel the hem of my dangerously short skirt clearly exposing creamy thigh above the tops of my stockings. I didn't think the rest of my secrets were exposed, but it must have been close. After my arms were secured the cop helped me straighten up and started to lead me away. My glare at Kelly was almost real, but then I decided to overcome this obstacle with style and began to exaggerate my already-pronounced hip swing. The cop took me through a side door and we were backstage.

"Ma'am," he said, "you're going to be the target of my act tonight. If you'll be a good sport and play along, I'll take you back to the dressing room later and let you meet the dancers. I'm not allowed to touch you any place except on your arms, so you don't need to worry, but I will pretend to, if that's all right with you."

I looked at him with arched eyebrow, considering his proposal. I knew I'd go along. Kelly and Billie Jo had worked too hard to set this up, but I decided I could negotiate a little.

"First," I demanded, "stop calling me ma'am. That sounds like an old woman. Do I look like an old woman to you?" I thrust my (artificially-enhanced) tits at him and struck a pose with my hips.

I could see a blush even in the part of his face not covered by his sunglasses and helmet as he shook his head.

"No, ma'am, I mean miss . . ." he stammered.

"Brandy," I offered, "call me Brandy."

He nodded in silent consent.

"Second," I continued, "you need to bring my friends back as well. They get to meet your dancers, too."

He nodded again.

"Third, I'll go along with your act, but I'm not easy. I'm going to start out hard to get. If you're good enough, you might find me more willing by the end of the act. How long are you on for?"

"About five minutes," he answered with a smile, "do you have any other conditions?"

"Just one, for now, you have to tell me your name."

"Henry," he admitted. "But the guys call me Hank," he added quickly.

"And the girls call you 'Hunk', don't they?" I laughed. His flush returned in confirmation of this obvious conclusion.

"Lead on, Officer Hunk, I'm your captive. Let's see what you're made of."

The music for the first act was ending and the cowboy dancers filed off the stage, having shed the long drover's coats along with most of the rest of their clothes. Hank grabbed up a stool and took me out onto the vacated stage before the audience of cheering women. I pretended to be angry, tossing my hair and struggling. The handcuffs forced my shoulders back and my tits forward so I waved them around like flags. I let my swinging hip bump against his leg, which caused a glance from Hank as he tried to move out of the way. He put the stool down on the stage and sat me carefully down on it but I wasn't able to pull the hem of my skirt into place and could tell a bit of hip was showing above my stockings. As long as it's not what's between my legs, I prayed.

Another driving rock rhythm began and Hank began to strut around the stage. From somewhere a voice came over the speakers. It wasn't Hank's voice but he acted as though he were speaking.

"This woman has been charged with impersonating a younger lady. Today is her birthday and she's a year older than she has been. In her defense, she maintains that she is still as hot and exciting as any younger woman. I intend to find out if that is true."

With that the music came up and he began his dance. He pulled off one of his gloves and dropped it in my lap, reaching with his bare hand as though to caress my cheek. I bit at his hand with my teeth, just missing a mouthful. He pulled his hand back as though I had truly bitten it, giving me a quizzical look. His next glove was thrown somewhere into the crowd, provoking squeals which overrode the music for an instant. His helmet was removed next and placed on the stage where it provided an anchor for the next several movements of his dance. He pulled his jacket off and danced back to me, trailing it behind him. When he reached me this time his hands moved as though to cup my breasts. I shied away, really worried about a too-detailed examination. However, true to his earlier promise, he did not actually touch me. More confident, now, I resolved to begin to play into his act.

He danced back and reached for the collar of his shirt. In one abrupt jerk, he pulled the special stripper-shirt off, revealing a clean-shaven chest shining with oil. This brought peals of laughter and offers from the crowd of women. I let myself stare at his chest, slowly licking my shining lips as though unconsciously. His eyes widened at this sign if interest, and he danced closer again. This time, when he reached for my breasts instead of shying away I arched toward his touch, again as though it were an unconscious reflex though I allowed the handcuffs to keep me from moving too much. His eyes widened again and I noticed a smile in them that the audience probably couldn't see.

As he danced away, I noticed that he was breathing heavily by now, muscular chest heaving. I expected it was due to the exertions of his energetic dance, but it worked to give an expression of building passion. I let my own breathing become more visible, as though panting myself. My tight corset, as always, made any increase in depth of breath very noticeable. By this time he had danced back to the other edge of the stage, then reached to his waist and pulled off his pants with a flourish nicely-timed to the beat of the music. I gasped along with the rest of the crowd, though in my case it was because the bulging g-string he wore was a near duplicate of the thong tightly constricting my own hidden bulge. Now I let my mouth open slightly, breathing harder than ever. I licked my lips again and let the tip of my tongue catch in my teeth, showing delicately.

I began to realize that my pretend passion had awakened a real desire. I wasn't really interested in this dancing stud, but my own cock began to send complaints at the tightness of its constriction. At some level, his clean-shaven, muscular dancer's body was so alive with animal energy that it created a response even in me. The effect on the women in the audience was fantastic. Their cheers were continuous now, overcoming the music. Hank danced toward me one more time, pausing to turn and wiggle his nearly-nude buns at me which provoked gales of laughter from the crowd. I let my mouth open more fully, breathing hard. As he reached out with both hands to cup my face (still never quite touching) he pulsed his hips toward me. His motion implied that he might capture my face and bring it to his pounding crotch. Instead of drawing away, I moved my face toward his hands, pursing my lips in an attempt to kiss his palm. When my mouth was hidden by his hands, I quickly flicked my tongue out and licked his palm, causing a jerk in his body that was not quite in time to the music. It was impossible to tell whether the flush on his face and heavy breathing were due to sexual excitement or just the exertions of his dance, but the pulse I could see in his pouch was unmistakable. He was no longer dancing just for his act, he was dancing for me, feeding on the energy of my excitement to increase his own. His hands swayed downward over my body, looking as though he were caressing me from neck to waist, not avoiding any obstacles in between. I arched erotically into his touch, throwing my head back and sending waves flowing through my silken tresses. Hank began dancing over my legs, spreading his own to straddle my thighs. He ran his hands more quickly up and down my body, building to match the climax in the music. I began to pulse toward him, arching as though I were shaken by orgasm. Just as it seemed his bulging pouch would be thrust into my navel, the music climaxed and the lights went out.

He quickly moved back and gathered his clothes in the dark, familiar with his own routine. In another second he was helping me to my feet and taking me backstage. We barely beat the lights as they came back on, but all that remained on stage was the stool, silent reminder of a bound woman now carried off into mystery. The crowd of women exploded into applause. I expected there were more than a few pairs of damp panties out there, and many women jealous of me at that moment.

No sooner had the door closed behind us then Hank dropped what was in his hands and spun me to face him. He surprised me and provoked a quick gasp, which enhanced an opportunity he was determined to achieve. While my mouth was still slightly parted from my gasp, he assailed my lips with a powerful kiss. His tongue followed his lips within an instant and was immediately probing deep into my mouth. I had become excited during his dance in spite of myself, and my immediate response was to be responsive. By the time I remembered that I was kissing a man I was already thoroughly involved. Damn he was a good kisser! His lips captured me powerfully but not abusively, and his passion was undeniable. I would have to remember that technique. From somewhere I seemed to hear some announcement about a short pause in the entertainment, though I wasn't really paying attention. After I time interval I could not really have identified, he stepped back.

"Oh, I'm sorry!" he exclaimed.

I allowed a pout to form on my ruby lips. "I don't usually get complaints from my kisses," I whimpered in pretended distress.

He blushed furiously. "No! I didn't mean that. It's just that I can get fired for touching you, let alone kissing you, but you are so HOT! I couldn't help myself."

I allowed my pout to retract about half way. "Well, that's not a bad apology. . . for a start."

I shrugged my shoulders to remind him my wrists were still bound in the handcuffs. He fumbled through his clothes for the key (he was clearly not carrying one in his g-string) and in another minute my arms were free. I moved closer to him and placed one finger on his lips.

"Never apologize, mister, it's a sign of weakness," I grinned with the reference to the old John Wayne movie. "I may get you fired for regretting you kissed me, and I will certainly try if you ever call me ma'am again, but I won't breathe a word about our kiss to anyone if it would get you in trouble."

His arms went back around my waist, this time with a little pause as he realized that I was wearing an interesting corset he had not noticed when his passionate embrace had surrounded my bound arms. I could tell he was about to move in for a rematch and was wondering how I would react when a side door opened and a waiter brought Kelly and Billie Jo backstage. Hank sprang back at the motion and he began to gather up his stuff again. I coughed slightly to get his attention and moved a finger across my lips, indicating he should wipe my lipstick off his mouth. By this time Kelly and Billie Jo had seen us and moved our way as he quickly wiped his face.

"What's gotten into you?" Kelly demanded in a sharp whisper.

"Tell you later," I stalled in an answering soft tone.

"This is 'Hunk'," I announced to my companions with a chuckle, "though he tells me the guys call him Hank."

"Hunk is right," Kelly gushed. "I have never seen such a powerful, sexy dance."

Billie Jo said nothing, though the gleam in her eyes showed her agreement with that assessment.

"I never had either," Hank replied, "but, then, I never did it with Brandy before."

This time it was my turn to blush. Kelly and Billie Jo noticed and chuckled softly at my discomfort.

"Brandy's never done it before, either," Kelly commented in bland innocence, though fully aware of the double meaning.

Hank led us to the dressing room. The cowboys were there, now getting ready for the next group number where they would be lifeguards at a beach. Their thin swim trunks left little to the imagination. As Hank escorted us in, the men started hooting and catcalling.

"Oh, Mama, you can dance with me anytime!

"Do you move as well when you're not wearing handcuffs?"

I put my hands on my hips and gave a few sensuous circles, as though doing a traditional bump and grind. By this time, Kelly and Billie Jo had filed into the room behind us and quickly joined the act, providing our own line of long-legged dancers. The hoots and cheers echoed those in the main show room and I heard offers flooding in from all sides.

A heavily-muscled dancer with extreme definition in the ridges of his body called out, "I've died and gone to heaven and the angels are coming for me."

I swayed over to him and lightly held his chin up on one long-nailed finger. "No," I disagreed, "you might find Kelly in heaven, she truly is an angel, and Billie Jo hasn't made up her mind, yet. But if you're looking for me you'll have to go where the sins are a lot more fun than heaven allows."

This brought a fresh chorus of cheers and offers. I grinned at the most impressive stud patrol I had ever seen and sashayed back to where Kelly and Billie Jo stood, giving an extra little hip dip on the way. Kelly's mouth was sagging in disbelief, though whether at my actions or at the ton of prime beef in the room I couldn't tell. Looking at Billie Jo, though, I saw an expression of naked need in her eyes. She had passed beyond want for a man and was now hungry in a way I could not have believed would ever show in her.

I whispered to her, "Pick one out. At this point, you can probably have your choice."

At least this brought her back to the real world, and a blush made a subtle change in the heat coloring her cheeks. She was clearly fascinated by the rock-hard muscle definition in the man I had spoken to. It seemed her current desire was for the most masculine-looking guy she could find and she had found a spectacular example. I grabbed her by the arm and pulled her back to stud who interested her.

"Billie Jo, I would like you to meet . . . ," I paused, never having gotten his name.

"Rod," he responded.

"I'm sure you are," I giggled. "Billie Jo is just fascinated with your . . . . smile."

She blushed at my claim, but instead of denying it, she dropped her head. In just a second or two, however, she was looking at Rod through her lashes and I recognized the proven techniques of female seduction at work. A tall blond man with an open, smiling face had appeared at Kelly's side from wherever those types are fabricated. She always did attract the nice guys. That left me with over a half a ton of prime beefcake and no idea what to do next. I really didn't want to go beyond flirting with these guys, but I didn't want my own limits to hold down Billie Jo. I also wasn't sure about what I wanted for Kelly. I decided to bring Billie Jo's decision to a head.

"Billie Jo, can I have the keys to your car? I think I left something in it."

She looked at me in surprise, since she knew I hadn't left anything in it. Then she realized what I was doing and began to fumble in her purse. Her own long nails frustrated her but she found her key ring and gave it to me. Kelly had brought my own purse. I took it and dropped the keys inside.

"There," I said, "now you don't have to worry about us and your car. If we need something, we can handle it."

Rod said, "Billie Jo, if you don't mind staying until the show is over, I'll be glad to take you home."

"Hers or yours," I teased.

Billie Jo blushed when Rod's only answer was an eyebrow raised in her direction.

I grabbed Billie Jo's arm and then extracted Kelly from the attentions of her latest blond hunk. Waving gaily we left the dressing room to make it back to our table for the rest of the show where we found a note on the table from the manager, offering me a job if I wanted to repeat my performance. I smiled and showed it to Kelly, but then put it in my purse.

"Interested?" Kelly asked.

"No," I replied. "It was fun once, but I'm not sure I could repeat it."

"You know," I continued, "you guys set me up. I'm not sweet-sixteen-and-never-been-kissed, but now I guess I qualify as a twenty-six year old tart."

"What about the never-been-kissed part?" Kelly asked, understanding dawning in her eyes.

"Old Hunk took care of that right well, thank you," I drawled. "That's one of the reasons I had to get out of the dressing room. I was afraid he or one of his friend would want a repeat performance, and I wasn't sure what I would do."

"What would you do?" Kelly demanded with a laugh.

"I really don't know. He surprised me and I was halfway through the kiss before I realized what was going on. By then, I was all the way into it. I must admit I enjoyed it."

"Well, Brandy, we may just have to arrange that repeat performance."

Shaking my head at her comment, I felt myself wondering what I really wanted. When the show was over, a waiter came to invite us backstage again. I held back, but urged Billie Jo to go.

"I'm sure Rod's waiting for you and you know enough about where he works and everything to be reasonably safe. Go for it!"

She gulped, but her need was plain on her face and I knew she was already convinced.

"We'll get home ourselves, in your car. Make him give you a good ride."

"Now, remember what I taught you," Kelly giggled as she straightened out Billie Jo's blouse.

Billie Jo went with the waiter and we headed for home. Though we sat out in our nightgowns for a long while, we never did see her return. The next morning we were getting ready to go see if she was okay when we heard a car drive up. Running to the window, we saw her get out. She seemed to be moving a bit stiffly, but she turned back to the car and dove in for a long, lingering kiss before getting out once again and going into her house. We decided she must have been happy with her evening, but that she could probably use some rest so we left her alone that day.

  

  

  

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