Top

"Two beers. The good stuff," you say, like you know beer, whipping off your top and throwing it at Phil. He snatches it from the air and tosses it somewhere behind the bar.

Truthfully, you get drunk from a few light beers, but you figure you should get the most you can for your clothes, and right now you could use the liquid courage. In spite of your casual removal of your top you're quivering inside, even if the men all see a girl eager to show them her breasts. Besides, an hour topless in return for some stress relief seems almost like a bargain.

As the men gather closer you can't help but smirk at how differently these men seem to feel. The attention to your small breasts are now receiving is a far cry from what they're used to. From Jacob, at least, you think sourly, but having thought of him you find yourself a lot less self-conscious and a lot more inclined to show off the goods that are 'his'.

Taking a gulp from the beer you stretch your hands above your head. "You know, someone told me that I should get implants. That my breasts were too small. What do you think?"

You whirl on the stool to give them a look, gratified that they all look intently at your chest.

"Well I like 'em big, but I like these just fine," one says, dampening your spirits a little.

"Don't mind Cliff, he's got a brother who's a plastic surgeon so he's always seeing big boobs. Works as a janitor there 'cause he can't get work anywhere else," another man laughs.

Cliff glares at the man. "Dammit, Joe, you don't say things like that. I suppose working at a tattoo parlor's a big deal, is it? Cleaning up after the so-called artists 'cause you can't do it yourself!"

"Guys, really, you're gonna argue while a babe like this is flashing her tits at us? I think I could suck on those titties all night," says another guy, a man who's probably the best looking of the bunch. You seem to recall seeing him talking with the guy you came in with earlier, who stands next to him.

"Hi, what's your name?" you ask him, taking a drink from your beer. With the men being so appreciative and non-threatening you find yourself relishing their attention, wanting to push their limits and buttons. God, your nipples feel like they're going to burst at the thought. Will there be a damp spot on the stool when you leave?

"Oh, I'm Derek. I'm an actor..."

"An actor?" you repeat, sitting forward, regarding him with skepticism and awe. With his good looks you could believe it. Damn, never mind a wet spot later, there's one on your stool now!

"An actor?"

Joe laughs derisively, "If you can call that acting. Can't anymore, can you? They won't let you perform because of what you got from little slut... Ow, what was that for?" he glares at Cliff.

Derek's face darkens with anger, "It's not my fault she gave it to me. Anyway, I've found a crew that don't care. They'll hire me on soon's I get a few bucks together..."

Some of the men commiserate, others rib him a little, but most of them just stare at you, making you a little uncomfortable at the intensity. You down a bit more beer, confused by the words between Derek and Joe.

"That doesn't seem fair. It sounds like they should've punished her. Little sluts should be..." you pause, unsure how to continue.

"Spanked?" one of the guys suggests hopefully. While you squirm a bit inside you give him a smile and nod almost eagerly.

"Dammit, Ray, not the bondage stuff again," Joe moans.

"They might take me on if they saw you," Derek says, startling you.

"What? You mean, acting?" you ask, flattered. Why would they want you? Was there a particular role that you'd be perfect for?

As if to answer your question Derek looks you up and down. "Well, you're pretty, you've got an amazing body. There's a market for the small girls like you in acting. They'd probably be so happy to get you they'd let my signing fee slide."

"Uh..." you gulp, remembering your broke state. "I, uh, don't have any money."

"No money, huh?" Phil repeats, looking off to the side where he'd thrown your top.

"Uh, not much," you amend, seeing something in his expression change. The mention of money is an unfortunate reminder of your laundry dilemna, so you take a long, deep gulp of beer, surprising yourself when you reach the bottom of the glass.

"Here's your second," Phil says, and you take it with a grateful smile.

How can you get money from these guys for the dryer when Phil won't allow them to offer money for beer, you wonder, taking another deep drink as you try to think it through.

Unfortunately, thinking's never been your strong suit and you spend the second beer flirting without paying attention and thinking without success.