It was a small club, one she hadn't been to before. That wasn't surprising, seeing as she had never ventured into this part of town before, nor would she now had it not been for Grayson.
Grayson Peters was the answer to Robin's dreams. She never had the least bit of faith in dating services, and avoided online romances like the plague. Just such tawdry methods got her married to the wrong guy, and divorced after many bitter jealousy spats. One day, one late, lonely, night after three years shunning the wrong kind of men, Robin was desperate enough to give in to the promises of a local internet meeting site.
It asked for only minimal information initially, listing links to personal profiles of other members within a selected distance from her city. Some profile pages even had pictures of the individuals willing to allow their information. There was also a BBS on which to post messages to individual parties or groups of like-minded people. Another option let a person narrow the field by choosing different interests. The best part of the service was that it was free.
Robin spent a more hours than she cared to admit visiting that site and fine tuning her choices. Grayson Peters showed up more often than not. He appeared to be far out of her league, but when Robin finally worked up the courage to leave messages on the BBS, she added his name to the list.
Gray responded, along with about half she contacted. After answering all, three guys responded a second time. Gray was one of them, and the only one she wrote to directly. Several emails later Robin decided to shoot the works. She offered a meeting, offering either of them a chance to make a decision on the basis of in-person information.
Several attempts and reschedules frustrated the 27-year-old brunette. It turned out Mr. Peterson was a busy man: doing what she had yet to find out. Both agreed to keep such personal facts private until they knew each other better. By the time they met for a lunch on a work day, Robin had masturbated enough times just dreaming about the man to give the whole project up as a lost cause. Grayson actually showed when he said he would, apologizing for delays.
Robin was forgiving. She was desperate, unable to date since her husband of 18 months divorced her as a bad idea, and Gray came off as every girl's ideal. Tall, athletic, handsome in a rugged way yet refined, polite and attentive. They met twice more, once at Borders for cappuccino and chamber music and once for dinner.
This night they had decided to try romance on for size. They set the ground rules in advance, based on mutual interests discussed in the BBS and tentatively validated in person: dark, quiet atmosphere, a little alcohol to loosen up with, music but no band or dance floor. Robin liked to dance, but not in crowds. She liked to "get into it," she told him. An audience tended to put her over the edge, perhaps too much revealed on the first real date. Grayson seemed to accept that gracefully, once she agreed to kissing and perhaps subtle fondling in public. If both felt good about how the evening was going, they could take things to the next level.
"And our shared deep secret?" he asked.
Robin hedged, not saying no, yet not saying yes either.
"Let's see how the mood strikes, alright?" she said.
Gray happened to know just the place to suit Robin's wishes. He found it necessary to work late that night, and would have to meet Robin there. So here she was, standing next to the bar letting her eyes adjust to the dim lighting.
A man slightly younger than herself approached with tray in hand. He wore a white shirt and dark pants, and introduced himself as David, her server this evening.
"A table for two, please," Robin said looking around for a suitable spot.
"And whom will be joining you?"
"A Mr. Peters."
"Grayson Peters, perhaps?"
David smiled. "This way, miss. Mr. Peters is a regular here, and holds a reserved table."
Robin was impressed. The server, indeed the only staff on duty it seemed, waited for her to settle into the padded bench seat.
"Will you be ordering for two then?"
"No. Just a gin and tonic for me please. I'm not sure when Gray... , Mr. Peters will be here." Might as well be more at ease when he does get here, Robin told herself as David went off to tend bar. Sitting alone in a strange place unsettled her a bit.
The lounge was plush enough to set a romantic mood, she noted. Deep, dark carpeting, simulated gas lighting along wood paneled walls. Framed artwork she could not make out hung at regular intervals. There were no stools at the bar. Square pedestal tables occupied the floor space, none with more than two cane-back chairs. Only hers -- Grayson's -- was different. Two tables had been pushed together in front of a single pew type bench backed up against the back wall of the long, narrow room.
Robin counted nine other customers as David appeared, placing napkin and glass in front of her. His French cuffs had onyx links, his fingers manicured. Quite the place, she thought as she sipped the cocktail. Quite the drink, too. Many of these and Gray would have to pour her into the car to take her home.
An hour later found her lost in the soft background music. She never thought of jazz as romantic, but then she never really gave it a chance. Where the music eased her disappointment over lost time with Gray, the gin softened her paranoia over sitting alone. She felt on display at first. There were five couples now, and all seemed to be seated facing her. More singles had joined the patronage, and Robin felt less the odd ball.
The second cocktail diminished to the rattle of ice, and Robin began to see this night as a waste of time. It was nearly ten, and if Grayson did not arrive soon there would be too little time to get to know each other better. It began to look like he might not come at all, and the young woman began to regret her stipulation that there be no dance floor. Dancing would have kept her occupied. And if she were stood up at least she might have someone to fall back on.
Robin did detect interest among a couple of the single males in the room. It would be a shame to waste the hours of preparation she put into this effort. She had dressed to Grayson's preferences: Sheer silk panties, white to accent her dark pubescence, and no nylons under the short sleeveless shift, blue to contrast with her fair skin. The red leather seat padding around her just happened to compliment it. A single pearl necklace and matching bracelet added a touch of elegance without overdoing it. She congratulated herself on the choices as it brought glances of appreciation from many in the lounge, including David who, having just completed a round of the room, now advanced on her empty glass.
Robin turned her palms up in a helpless gesture. "Might as well, can't dance." She regretted the trite jab the moment it left her lips. Grayson was obviously a regular, and well thought of here. She should keep her expressions of disappointment to herself.
Then, what the hell, she thought as she toed off her high heels. The shoes were fine for standing, but were a real pain just sitting around like this. He's the one who's late. I'm not likely to return here in any case. The third gin and tonic arrived, and Robin said fuck-it under her breath. The guy in a sports jacket two tables away just to her right had noticed her removing her heels, and now Robin glanced his way as she sipped her drink. Maybe it was time to line up a suitable replacement.
Perhaps less casually than she thought, Robin pulled her dress higher on her lap, enough to get the hem above her knees. She felt a rush of pleasure, for she was falling back into her less than lady-like true self. Part of her online experiment was to get away from the kind of lurid behavior that easily hooked men, in bars or anywhere else. In a pinch, however, she knew how to get a guy's attention. It began by lifting her glass off the table, leaning back in the seat and parting her knees as she sipped.
Had she not been so intent on the man in tan, Robin might have been surprised at how many eyes her movements attracted. The object of her performance was not at all bashful. He watched her casually yet steadily as she "carelessly" brushed the flimsy material higher on her lap, sipped her cocktail and toyed with the neckline of her dress. It buttoned up the front, and Robin wore no bra, so deft fingers loosened a couple for added effect. The woman noticed a couple more faces turned her way.
Smiling her satisfaction, Robin made sure her hem was high enough to reveal her panties. From her own perspective her lap was fully exposed. She sipped her gin and tonic slowly. Occasionally she made her legs close slightly then open again, less to keep her suitors' interest as to coax the awakening feelings of arousal in her loins. She watched David make his rounds. She wondered what he might say when he delivered a fourth drink and noticed her bare thighs splayed under the table. Would he think her too drunk for another, or would he smile and take it all in?
The server returned to his bar. The man in tan had turned his seat to face her, his own legs akimbo. To reward his interest Robin dropped a hand to her knee, and after a few seconds resting it there she drew it up along her thigh. Slowly she ran it down the outside of her leg, repeating the earlier slide, slightly more to the inside this time. He clutched his fly briefly as a signal that he had seen, and appreciated, her move. It was gratifying to see the body language hadn't changed while she was out of the game.
Robin didn't notice David's unbidden approach until her was half way to her table. He carried a tray with two drinks instead of one. Maybe he brought news of Grayson, she thought, and sat up demurely covering most of her lap.
"Mr. Peters telephoned his regrets that he will be a bit longer than expected," David said, placing a highball and a beer on the table. No shit, Robin thought. "He hopes you will be ready for your special game, as he has been greatly looking forward to playing."
This last left Robin unsettled. To learn he was still coming was surprise enough. Voicing his strong desire to engage in their mutual kink in the very short time they will have left to them when he does show up, especially through the messenger David, sent chills throughout Robin's body. He had even ordered her a beer to help get her ready!
Did Gray think two hours sitting alone and drinking gin wasn't enough to get her going? Robin was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. He could still turn out to be the best thing to happen to her. But the chances were living on borrowed time. She would be quite useless to him or anyone else after many rounds like this one. Robin would take no responsibility for what might happen if he did not get here before these glasses were empty.
After only a couple of sips of each, Robin knew she was in trouble. Gray had planted the thought in her mind, and with that all she could think of release was imminent. Fuck it, she said to herself again. With her timing, Gray would walk in the moment she came out of the ladies' room, and there would be nothing to show for it for some time. The only solution to Robin's dilemma was to relieve some pressure. The whole idea, after all, was to do it in public.
During these thoughtful moments Robin had been absently toying with the buttons of her shift. That another now lay undone was not inappropriate to what lie ahead, so she let her fingers tug the limp material aside as she looked up to her fan club.
The man in tan had turned back to his table, but did keep an eye in her direction. The couple who found her earlier display interesting now chatted together over fresh drinks. David seemed engaged in earnest conversation with a single guy, making Robin wonder about his leanings. The server/host graced her with a glance none the less. The aroused brunette took notice of these things as she resumed her relaxed posture, pulling her dress hem up less furtively now.
Taking a good mouthful of beer, Robin concentrated on the task at hand. Damn Gray for missing this, she told herself as she felt the cloud of growing lust envelope her. Robin's vision blurred, knowing the shame she was about to endure and the pleasure she knew would come of it. A swig of gin and tonic steeled her nerve.
She had done this enough times to recognize the moment. As it came on she sighed, closed her eyes and let her legs go completely limp. She could feel piss filing her urethra, poise at the brink. Fighting instinct, she remained weak, and moaned deep and soft in the throat because she knew there was no turning back from this point. To try would result in the very same eventuality. Not to was to triumph over the chains of moral restriction.
Robin nearly cried out as she felt the crotch of her silk panties flood with urine. She counted to three, already hearing her pee dribble on the floor, before cutting off the flow. Sitting up, the brunette shook out her hair, sipped her drink and opened her eyes. As near as she could tell, several pairs of eyes lingered on her. Others may have just glanced away, but none looked at her in reproach.
Her head spun with the heady desire to give those who cared to watch another shot, before those who might object lodged a complaint with David. Heart thumping behind her breast and butterflies cavorting in her stomach, Robin took another swallow of beer, and another, vaguely aware of many eyes on her as she tanked up for another go.
The fingers of her free hand were busy behind the up-raised glass. Casually tickling the skin of her bosom, Robin nudged the lapels of her dress front aside. Another button unfastened. A strap slips from one bare shoulder. The aroused woman trails finger tips over her nipple. It is stiff, teat protruding. Thumb and forefinger pinch it while she sips another mouthful of gin and tonic.
She wondered whether anyone heard her gasp at the sharp pain that shot through her tit and rose goose bumps on her arms. Fuck it, thought, taking another gulp of brew, and leaned back and twisted the nipple of her exposed breast again for all to see. Splaying her legs and pulling her hem back up to her belly, Robin drained the beer glass. She grinned slyly and moaned aloud as her loins relaxed, urine backed up behind her pee hole building to breach pressure.
When the gush of piss arched through the silk panty crotch Robin groaned audibly, her back arched in submissive pleasure. There was a murmur from the crowd, a soft clap and the ring of glassware, but it died off as she held the pose: piss dripping from her crotch to the puddle on the floor, and running down her bare legs in hot rivulets. Robin had staunched the flow, holding some in reserve, but had pissed enough to relish in wetness. Sitting upright again, the lust dazed brunette tried to focus her eyes.
David's white shirt grew larger as it neared her, tray in hand, anticipating her request for another round.