Norma Egan - Pawns of passion

Pat Adams, a statuesque brunette of thirty-eight, was backed up against the office wall, staring at her new boss. "You want WHAT?" Pat said incredulously. "I couldn't have heard you correctly, Mr. Spalding."

"Then I'll say it again," Brock Spalding said. "I want you to undress."

Pat couldn't mistake his words that time. Still she couldn't believe he'd ask anything so outrageous. She remained silent a moment, wondering just how she'd gotten herself into such a fix. It was only her first hour on the job, and already she was in trouble.

For five years, ever since her husband died, Pat had worked for long hours and poor wages at a dime store to support herself and her daughter Trish. Finally she'd made the break and taken a better-paying job at the Tango, a new nightclub run by Brock Spalding. But she was nervous about being a cocktail waitress, and Spalding's astonishing request certainly hadn't helped calm her down.

Finally she managed to speak again. "Mr. Spalding, you have my work application, and I think everything is in order. I don't see any reason for me to take off my clothes. I'm only going to wait tables, not do a striptease."

Brock Spalding, a handsome dark-haired man of twenty-eight, sighed impatiently. "Look, baby," he said, "you're not just a waitress. Not at my place. I only hire the best-looking chicks, because I want to attract customers. I have to make sure you've got what it takes. And I have to know how you're gonna look in your costume."

"Costume?" Pat asked. "Isn't an ordinary waitress' uniform good enough?"

"Not at the Tango," Brock replied. "Come on, Mrs. Adams, take it or leave it. I'm a busy man. What's it gonna be?"

Pat felt torn between modesty and greed. She didn't want to undress in front of a stranger, but on the other hand she needed the high wages and good lips this job would bring her. She needed the money for Trish. Now that her daughter was eighteen and thinking about college, Pat wanted to give her everything she might need for her future.

It was the thought of Trish that did it. Pat would do anything for her daughter. "Very well, Mr. Spalding," she sighed. "I want the job."

"Then get on with it," Brock said, lighting a cigarette. "Show me your stuff."

Blushing with embarrassment, Pat kicked off her shoes and began unbuttoning her modest white cotton blouse. It had been five years since she'd undressed in front of a man, and even then it had been her husband John. She couldn't control her trembling hands as she fumbled with her buttons. Her conscience told her this was all wrong, that she ought to walk out but, dammit, she needed the job.

Brock leaned back in his chair behind his desk, smoking, watching her intently. Pat removed her blouse and set it on his desk. She was wearing a dainty white lace bra that seemed to barely contain her large full tits. She saw Brock raise an eyebrow in obvious appreciation. That only made her feel more mortified.

On the other hand, as she fumbled with the zipper of her sensible tweed skirt, she couldn't help observing how attractive Brock Spalding was. Tall, lean, with coal-black hair, he was deeply tanned and expensively dressed. Pat had been deeply devoted to her husband, and it wasn't often that another man turned her on. She was surprised at how excited Spalding made her feel.

"Come on, honey," he said impatiently, "I don't have all day."

"Sorry," Pat muttered.

She quickly unzipped her skirt and let it drop before she could lose her nerve. In just her bra and her little white lace panties, she presented a spectacular sight. Brock's eyes widened. Pat Adams certainly didn't look thirty-eight years old, and no one would have guessed she was the mother of a teenage daughter.

Pat stood five-feet-eight in her bare feet, a long-legged big-breasted girl with a tiny firm waist and trim but curvy hips and ass. Her raven-black hair hung straight and gleaming below her shoulders. She had big brown eyes fringed with heavy natural black lashes, a delicate up-turned nose, and soft sensual mouth. She was the kind of woman who made men turn and stare in the sheets.

"Not bad," Brock said softly, "not bad at all."

"For an old lady," Pat added dryly.

"Honey, I read your age on the application," Brock said, "but nobody would ever guess. That's not gonna be a problem at all. Now I just wanta see how you'll look in the costume."

He reached into his desk and brought out a small box. He handed it to Pat but didn't get up from behind his desk, so that she was forced to walk up close to him. He eyed her spectacular figure as she moved, and Pat couldn't help blushing. The man both embarrassed her and excited her. She backed off and opened the box.

"Where's the rest of it?" she said, holding up a tiny piece of black cloth.

Brock chuckled. "That's it, baby," he said. "Try it on."

Pat gawked at the skimpy costume. It was a one-piece swimming suit of stretchy black cloth, designed to be skin-tight and very revealing. She could tell she wouldn't be able to wear a bra or panties with it. Maybe that was why Brock had wanted to check her figure. No woman with even an ounce of fat could have fitted into that little suit.

"You want me to serve customers in THIS?" Pat said.

"Sure, all the girls wear them," Brock said. "It keeps customers coming back. But let's get going, baby. I got other girls to interview, and if you don't want the job, I bet they will."

Pat took the hint. She gathered up her clothes and started for the door, but Brock said, "Try it on here. I don't have time for you to go somewhere else and change."

"But Mr. Spalding," Pat wailed, "I'd hate to take off everything."

"Oh, Jesus," he said. "Look, I'm a big boy, I've seen it all. And I'm not recruiting nuns I'm looking for sexy chicks to be cocktail waitresses. For the last time, baby, take it or leave it."

Pat wanted to run from the room and never come back. She knew she was way out of her league. She was a modest respectable woman, totally shocked by Spalding's way of carrying on business. But again she thought of Trish and how she and her daughter could use all that extra money. No matter how mortifying, she had to do this for Trish.

"All right, Mr. Spalding," she sighed.

Quickly, just to get it over with, Pat unhooked her bra and drew it off. Her full firm tits were a little larger than big grapefruits, lovely round melons of creamy-pale flesh. Her nipples were rosy and small, and as they contacted the cool air of the office, the little buds grew stiff and pointed. Brock stared hungrily at her gorgeous jugs.

Pat felt totally humiliated, but she was determined to get the job, so she quickly whisked off her little white lacy panties. Again Brock's lusty gaze seemed to burn right into her flesh. He eyed the dainty little triangle of her bush, a soft gleaming mound of raven-black curls. Blushing furiously, Pat seized the skimpy waitress' costume and slipped into it.

Brock leaned back in his chat, flushing slightly. Pat knew she must look fantastic in that outrageously skimpy costume. It fit snugly around her pert little ass, showing the lower rounds of her butt. It clung to her big thrusting tits, and she could see the hard little points of her stiff nipples. The costume left nothing at all to the imagination.

"You'll do," Brock sighed. "You'll do just fine."

"Thank you, Mr. Spalding," Pat said coolly. "When shall I report for work?"

"Tonight," He said. "There's just one other thing to remember, baby. The customer is always right. You're here to please the guys who come to my club, you got it?"

"Yes, sir," Pat said, skinning out of her tiny costume.

She stood there naked for a moment, looking around for her scattered clothes. Brock got up from behind his desk and walked around to her, so quickly and silently that she didn't notice him till he was putting his arms around her. Pat gasped, totally stunned, as he drew her tight against him and kissed her.