Part 2: Amateur Night

The van pulled into the empty parking lot of the closed 'Wiggle Room'. Gretchen had spent a lot of time on the sidewalk there, but had never crossed onto the property. She was still only vaguely aware of where she was, though, so the familiar landmark seemed comforting. Gretchen was all about being comfortable at that moment.

Etuate drove the van around to the back of the club and killed the engine. Jim opened the door and Gretchen poured out. Standing was a little difficult, as her knees felt very weak and her head felt very wobbly, but Jim was there to help keep her up with his nice, strong hands. Good ol' Jim!

Etuate helped the other girls out of the back. They were still giggling and groping one another. Several articles of clothing were missing. Jerica was completely naked, with several hickies forming at various places on her pale body. Gretchen giggled at the sight.

Jim led them all into the club. It was dark, but not too dark. The smells were strange and unidentifiable. They had entered through the performers entrance and they passed a large open dressing room with a big mirror. Gretchen barely recognized the disheveled, grinning girl on Jim's arm, and giggled when she realized it was herself.

They came to the big, open main room, with little tables and three raised stages, each with a big brass pole in the middle. There was a bar at one end and a handsome Spaniard behind the bar.

"Jaime! Thanks for coming! These ladies are my guests! The drinks are on me... and make sure that you aren't stingy!" Jim announced.

"Not stingy with all of them boss?" Jaime asked.

"As generous as you can be, my friend!" Jim clarified. "I'm in a very generous mood!

But, you know, with the cheep stuff. No sense breaking the bank. They won't know the difference anyway."

The bartender grinned wickedly and motioned the ladies toward him with both hands.

Soon each girl had a drink. Some had two. Etuate turned on the sound system and the spotlights and soon a party was brewing.

Once Gretchen had her rum & coke in hand, Jim took her aside.

"I hate to tell you this, Gretch, but you've got a pretty noticeable wet spot from our game earlier.

Gretchen looked down and saw that the crotch of her khakis was a lot darker than the rest of her pants.

"Oh my God!" she exclaimed, then snorted and giggled. She had come down enough to be a bit embarrassed, but still found her predicament hilarious.

"Don't worry!" Jim told her. "I'm sure there's something tasteful in the dressing room we can put you in. Something that'll be more flattering to that clever little ass of yours, too!"

He placed a friendly hand on said ass and directed her out of the main room. Gretchen giggled and sipped at her drink. It burned going down, but not in a bad way. What could possibly be bad on a night like this?

In the dressing room, Gretchen was again confronted with her own reflection. She had never thought of her self as particularly pretty, but with big, stupid smile on her face and wide, glazed green eyes, she decided she was actually pretty cute. And Jim seemed to think so too! It was a delightful revelation, and she giggled and waved at herself in the mirror. Her reflection waved back, which was, of course, hilarious.

"Now, I think you'd look just lovely in something like this," Jim announced.

Gretchen turned to see he was holding a tiny skirt and halter top covered with shiny green sequins.

"See? It matches you're eyes!" he said, holding it up to her face.

Gretchen had never worn so little, but he was right about it matching her eyes. And she couldn't go around with her pants wet.

Remembering how her pants hand gotten wet made her giggle, blush, and make them a bit wetter. She had no idea she was capable of climaxing like that! And just from being tickled!

"Why don't I help you get out of those," Jim suggested, coming around behind her and reaching around her waist to undo her pants. The smell of her arousal filled the small dressing room as he pulled her damp pants and sodden panties down around her knees.

Gretchen shuddered and giggled.

"Are you... wanna tickle me again?" she asked hopefully.

"Would you like that Gretchen?" Jim asked, grinning at her in the mirror from over her shoulder.

Gretchen nodded her head vigorously.

Jim stuck a finger in her armpit and tickled. She squealed and squirmed, nearly falling over with her pants-bound legs, but once he stopped, she pouted.

"No, not my armpit!" she insisted. "Like before... in my <giggle>... in my vagina."

"Vagina?" Jim said. "What am I, your gynecologist? Vagina's don't get tickled. Twat's get tickled. So do coozes, cunts and pussies. Now what do you want me to tickle?"

He traced a finger around her nipple and her knees went weak.

"Mm... m... m... my twat!" she said. "Tickle my twat!"

"PLEASE, Gretchen," he said, another finger stroking just below her navel. "You need to ask nicely."

"PLEASE tickle my twat!" she begged.

"That's a good girl!" he said, and dropped his hand down to her crotch, deftly fingering her as she once again was overcome by agonizing ecstasy. He had to hold her up as she lost control of her trembling limbs, giggling and babbling and squealing.

And then he stopped.

"No! No!" she pled. "More! I need more!"

"My my my!" said Jim. "You can't get enough, can you? You've already come once tonight, Gretchen. I'm starting to think you're greedy!"

"But... but..." she panted, eyes wild. "I like it!"

"Well that's good, but if you want to come again, you're going to do it in your new outfit." Jim said.

Gretchen of course agreed. She was greedy. It just felt so good! It made everything all right! It drown out that annoying, confusing voice in the back of her head that kept telling her she shouldn't be having so much fun and feeling so good. She did as she was told and let Jim dress her in the tiny green sequined outfit. It was made of some synthetic fabric that hugged her thin frame closely, the skirt barely stretching the length of her hips, the halter top obviously meant for a bigger girl, but draping nicely along her modest bust.

She wore no panties, of course. They would only get in the way.

"Now will you tickle me?" she asked as soon as the top was pulled over her head.

"Shoes too!" Jim insisted. "And maybe... oh yes, that's just the thing!"

He strode across the room and returned with a long, curly wig of synthetic red hair. He also brought a pair of sandals with yellow plastic straps and towering clear acrylic heels.

Gretchen gave no objections. She was focused on her need to come. If she needed shoes and a wig to do it, then to hell with the confusing objections the voice in the back of her head was making. What did it know?

"Now that is a girl who is ready to play tickle twat!" Jim announced once the wig was securely in place, cascading down her back and along her shoulders.

The horny, wild-eyed girl in the mirror certainly looked nothing like the head of the college feminists. Clearly, Gretchen agreed, this was a girl with one thing on her mind.

And once she got it, even that wasn't on her mind as she lost all illusion of sanity as the onslaught of probing, tickling fingers began in earnest. She squealed and squirmed, screamed and shuddered, giggled and wiggled as the world spun faster and faster around her head.

And then the spinning world exploded as she came and came and came again. All her muscles declared a holiday and she slumped to the floor, cushioned only by the pink fog that had enveloped her mind. She lay there in a pile, giggling softly to herself, wondering if the room would ever stop spinning but not particularly caring.

And then, an eternity later, someone was picking her up. Propping her up, really. She found her self being hauled by strong arms around her waist and then draping her over the arm of a couch. Her little skirt got hiked up around her hips and then someone slapped her ass. That brought her a little bit out of her fog, enough to make her look over her shoulder and her elevated ass to see Jim with his pants around his ankles and his dick long and hard.

Gretchen's eyes went wide. If she didn't know better, she'd think he was planning on fucking her.

But rather than his dick, he came at her with his thumb. And rather than her twat, that he had just tickled so nicely, she discovered he was aiming for her asshole, smearing it with something thick and greasy.

The implications of that was enough to make that voice in her head yell loud enough through the pink fog that she jerked and rolled off the arm of the couch, falling on her bare ass and looking up at a startled Jim holding a jar of petroleum jelly with his hard dick pointing at her.

"What do you think you're doing?" Gretchen asked. "I never said you could... you could... you know!"

"My you are greedy, aren't you Gretchen?" he replied. "You've come twice already and I haven't come at all! Now get that skinny little ass back here and pay me back!"

For a moment, she hesitated. He had been so nice. Everything had felt so nice when he had done it. It was only fair...

But no! She remembered a scathing rebuke she had given to her freshman-year boyfriend when he had suggested it. And though that seemed like an entirely different girl who had said it, Gretchen repeated it, as it seemed to make sense.

"Why don't I put on a strap on and fuck your asshole?" she asked. "How would you like that?"

"Because you don't have a strap on, silly girl," said Jim. "And I've got a perfectly usable dick right here all ready for you."

That irrefutable logic completely knocked the wind out of her argument. She screwed her face up and said, "huh?"

"Look, I can see you're confused," Jim said. "Not feeling as good as you were a moment ago. I don't want you to feel uncomfortable, Gretchen. I want us to be friends! So lets put this away..."

He managed to fit his hard-n back into his pants. Gretchen relaxed more once it was out of site.

"And let's go into my office," he said. "I've got something in there I think you'll like."

He helped her up off the floor and helped her smooth down her skirt. He really was very nice, though something in the back of her head was still saying he wasn't. It was all very confusing. Her knees were still weak and she was glad to have him supporting her, guiding her into his small, cluttered office adjacent to the dressing room.

He turned on a desk lamp, leaving the overhead light off. From his desk drawer, her retreated a long, thin cylinder with a nozzle and LED on one end. Gretchen recognized it.

"Hey! That's the snake! Mr. Blinky!" she exclaimed.

"Actually, this is his twin brother," Jim exclaimed. "And he comes with an attachment!"

"Huh?" Gretchen asked, as Jim retrieved a length of tubing and a clear plastic mask. He attached the tube to the nozzle and then slipped the mask over Gretchen's nose and mouth, strapping it to her head.

"But what's this for?" she asked as he pushed a button on a remote control and a vaguely familiar odor like cotton candy filled her nose.

The red LED started blinking. So did Gretchen. She started to feel, very, very good.

The annoying voice in the back of her head stopped yelling at her. It seemed to be feeling very good too. It started singing the theme song to Sesame Street.

Gretchen stated to giggle. It felt good, so she saw no reason to stop. Jim smiled at her and she smiled back. He was nice, the mask was nice, her outfit was nice, the desk was nice, giggling was nice. Nice, nice, nice.

"Now isn't that much better?" Jim asked.

Giggling Gretchen nodded her agreement.

"You don't mind if I fuck you up the ass now, do you?" he asked.

She found that she didn't. She didn't mind at all. It would be nice. Everything was nice.

She shrugged and shook her head and kept on giggling.

"I was hoping you'd feel that way!" Jim exclaimed.

Then he bent her over his desk, pulled up her skirt and finished greasing her asshole. It felt nice. Gretchen liked it.

And then his hard dick was sliding between her ass cheeks, pushing against her hole. It wasn't easy. It hurt a little, but in a nice way. Gretchen twitched and giggled and breathed in the sweet wonderfulness coming out of the cylinder.

Jim grabbed hold of her hips and started pushing in and out and in and out. With every stroke, it was easier. And nicer. Her head bobbed along with Jim's rhythm, feeling like it might pop off and float away with every inward thrust. That would be nice, she thought. As her head floated away, she would be able to look down and see what it looked like to be fucked up the ass. The voice in her head started singing The Sound of Music.

And then Jim was coming, pumping her full of hot goo. Just to be neighborly, Gretchen came too, though it was hard to be certain if she was coming or going. All sorts of things were going on inside her, but she was already feeling as nice as she possibly could.

Jim pulled out of her, which was nice, and jism ran down her legs, which was also nice.

He sat her up on the desk, turned off the cylinder and took of the mask. That wasn't so nice, but it didn't bother Gretchen so much. She was still feeling wonderful, still giggling, still on top of the world.

"Now let's go see how you're little friends are doing," Jim suggested.

That would be nice, Gretchen agreed. She nodded to tell him so, because she couldn't stop giggling.

The party was in full swing there in the main room. The sound system was blasting out a base-heavy mix of three-minute songs. Several girls were up on the stages, swinging around the poles. Others were drinking and yelling out meaningless conversation to each other. Jerica was wearing a bikini made of whipped cream and Robyn kept licking it off and then spraying it back on from an aerosol can. Chelsea was wearing nothing but her glasses. The large-breasted blond was lying naked on the bar while Jaime the bartender poured shots directly into her mouth with one hand and mauled her boobs with the other.

Etuate, the big Tongan bouncer, was chatting with the girls and taking their pictures.

They all posed with great enthusiasm.

"Hey! It's Gretchen!" Tabitha yelled out from her position hanging upside down on the stage, naked from hips to toes, her legs wrapped around the brass pole, her silken hair swinging.