Getting rid of the skirt and stocking

Dammit, SHE was the one in charge here, not them, Amanda thought, but fume as she might she couldn't sit there doing nothing. Clearly she was going to have to get all the clothes off, so what did it matter what order she did it? The only problem was she couldn't just rip them off, and the only way the crowd seemed to want to pay was if she used the rose in some way.

To hell with doing the panties first, she'd get rid of the skirt, then work on that damn stocking.

So thinking she pushed away from her 'helper' and sashayed backwards. She wasn't going to make the mistake of humping the pole again, not until she was rid of the roses. Instead she turned and bent slowly, rotating her butt and spreading her legs before reaching back to slowly raise the skirt, smirking at the audience. Her other hand, out of sight for most of them, started picking at the stocking.

Amanda paused when her skirt was above a cheek, and smacked her hand down. The audience clapped, and she did it a few more times, turning the cheek red and freeing the stocking from another couple of thorns. When it became more painful than she minded she switched sides, repeating the processu ntil she finally managed to get one layer of the stocking undone.

Not wanting them to see the stocking until she could dramatically pull it off she paused, reached to the zipper she'd managed to feel on the side of the skirt, and took hold of it. Eying the audience she unzipped it, held the rose against the front of her pelvis so it wouldn't go flying, and yanked off the skirt.

Surprisingly enough it actually worked. The rose scratched sideways a little bit, but not too much, and the audience cheered as she tossed the skirt to them. They could rip it to shreds for all she cared.

Still hiding the partly-unwound stocking she brought a hand between her legs and up her crack, then sank to her knees to present her panty-clad butt to them. For a few moments she simply rubbed her pussy, back arched so they could see better, and hoped it was enough, but the cheering and applause started drying up.

The rose, she thought, staring at the one that had been in her waistband. They'd liked it when she spanked herself. What if...

Smiling, thought not terribly pleased, Amanda picked up the rose, and while leaning on the pole, she surreptitiously started picking away at the stocking.

"Do you want to see me spank myself?" she asked, and the response was lukewarm. "Do you want to see me spank myself with this?" she asked again, lifting the rose. The response was immediate, and the men cheered as one.

Smirking at her power over them she lifted the rose and slashed it down viciously, stopping just short of her skin. It was what she'd planned, as a delaying tactic, and the men booed a little. She winked, her lips cracking a little as she smiled. "Just kidding," she cooed.

Working on the stocking one-handed was slow-going, and after lightly spanking herself she wasn't even halfway there. She knew the men needed more to not lose interest, and decided to bite the bullet. She snapped the rose harder, wincing with each strike, leaving red dots across her asscheeks as she worked.

It wasn't up to what the men really wanted to see, but the longer she did it the more painful it became, and the redder her buttcheeks came, from both the impact and the prickling of thorns. Occasionally she'd jerk from her activities with the stocking, though, and lash herself harder than she meant to, leaving her with a few mild lacerations across her round buttocks.

When she couldn't stand that anymore she lay down, slid her crotch against the pole, and arched her back. It was tough reaching all the way to her thigh, especially with it on the other side of the pole, but the arching helped, and as she switching to whipping her tits she settled for one holding onto the stocking while the leg was folded outward. With the rose stuck to the inside of the leg and her hand clutching the stocking with a deathgrip the rose was **** to slowly let go of the gauzy material.

To Amanda it felt like it was just in time. Her breasts were dotted with red like a kid with the measles, and though it was just pin-pricks it still hurt. She'd resorted to lashing her stomach down to her pelvis, which meant pushing her butt way up. Not exactly a help to her plans.

But then, in a final act of desperation, she stopped whipping herself and sat up abruptly, using the motion to pull the stocking the rest of the way off.