My feather girl 01a — A diamond in the rough
LEGALESE: Don’t read this if you are underage, if it is illegal in your area, if it is offensive to you, or if you cannot distinguish fiction from reality. This is a work of fiction.
All sexually active characters are above the age of consent on their planet of origin.
Many thanks go to RF-Fast and thor_pf for editing and polishing. Any bad grammar left is wholly on me and my artistic style… and a strong reliance on spell check.
Copyright (c) 2018 by Acup
A word of warning, I write good stories, I hope, with some decent sex in them. If you’re looking for a stroker look somewhere else.
The disclaimers have been moved to the end of the story for my ADD readers.
This is the story of a young woman who has been keeping company with a rather pathetic guy who has succeeded in warping her sense of what a ‘normal’ relationship and sex should be. It’s about her finding an average young man and her learning that what she thought she knew really isn’t so, then slowly working through to what should be a normal relationship and coming to terms with it. Finally coming to be a lovely woman who doesn’t hide her body and eventually begins to enjoy and even revel in being looked at.
“I wish I’d known they were going to do that, it would have been fun to do,” I heard her say from the next table.
Even if I don’t have any boobs, someone might look at my legs, maybe even my butt with that nice little thong though.
Just a fairly normal statement, you know, like talking about going to a concert or an amusement park. But that’s not what she was talking about. Betty was talking about being a casino feather girl… WOW!
So let’s back up and set the stage here. I work at a nice Midwestern casino. Not the Bellagio in Vegas, but not some little office trailer with a dozen or so machines either. Just a decent sized casino. All total we had a little over six hundred slot machines and thirty card tables with various games, along with the requisite roulette wheel and a few craps tables. Of course we had all the glitz they could afford.
Now, since we’re in the Midwest we didn’t have the topless show girls. Hell, we were small enough that we only had a small stage downstairs for the occasional show. Of course we had the required scantily dressed cocktail waitresses, and yes, there was a bit of a fuss at first about the outfits, just like they protested when Hooters opened a place down the road. But the girls realized that those strapless corsets that barely covered their nipples, along with the puffy micro skirts that let ALL of their legs show, equaled nicer tips, so the protests didn’t last long.
Beyond that it was a fairly typical workplace. Us worker bees in our black shirts and slacks, the dealers and floor workers in their white long-sleeved puffy shirts and fancy satin vests, and the usual supervisor mix. For the most part the customers wore the most interesting outfits in the place.
It wasn’t unusual on the evening shift to have several of the finer ladies slightly inebriated in their party clothes. Necklines down to their belly buttons, tops and tits swinging with every step and handle pull. Short skirts and dresses working their way up bare or stocking clad thighs as they twisted back and forth on the stools until you were rewarded with a nice panty shot.
Since I worked on the machines I had an even better vantage point, right through the glass. I could look down into those dresses through the glass, or kneel down to the lower cabinet and look under the door and up those short skirts all behind the anonymity of the machine door. Most of the time all I saw was a bit more cleavage or panty, but those times when I saw a free swinging tit or a shaved pussy really made my night.
Most of the female managers were fairly conservative and wore the traditional pants suit or below the knee dress, and god forbid you could see any cleavage, but there were some who flirted with the edge a bit, and Betty was one of them.
When Betty wore pant suits they were thin, not see through thin, but ‘see the panty line when she bent over’ thin, the ‘I can see the ripples of the lace edge of her boy shorts’ thin. The ‘I can see the edge of some skimpy panties’ thin, and my favorite was ‘I can’t see any lines’ thin… Thong? Or perhaps commando!
Tops were the same way. Always buttoned most of the way up but still showing some cleavage, loose enough to fall forward and let some lace bra show when she leaned forward, thin enough to let the ripples of that lace show when she stretched up and back to put her jacket on. And my imagination always said that lump in the middle of those nice handfuls was a firm nipple just waiting to be nibbled on, and not a bra seam.
But the skirts were another thing entirely. I can only remember her in two types, calf length billowy and above the knee snug. Now, the longer billowy ones didn’t let you see much, but they LOVED the crack pendik escort of her ass, getting in there and making the dress swing with the sway of her hips and butt after she stood up from getting a reserve bag. Making you want to reach out and run your finger down the crack of her ass to see what you could find, or hopefully not find, in your way.
But the short snug ones… I lived for those nights! The longest of them barely came to her knees while the shorter ones ended several inches higher, almost making them mid-thigh. Working on machines when she went by was nice, working on a customer’s machine while she stood there was better, but standing there while she got the reserve bag from the stand was the best.
Betty would have to hike her skirt up above mid-thigh to kneel down, bare thigh or stocking clad, either way it was a sight, and her leaning forward to pull the bag letting me look right down her top to see cleavage and lace made for trips to the bathroom to relieve my ache an inevitability. I NEED to find a regular girlfriend soon!
Back to the conversation…
“You couldn’t pay me enough to let it all hang out like that,” Amy replied. “Even if it is New Years, there isn’t enough vodka in the world…”
That led to a discussion amongst the ladies, most of the men having beaten a hasty retreat, as to the type of woman that would ‘behave’ like that. The older ladies were of the opinion that only the hard up idiots would flaunt their figures that way. The younger ones seemed to get off on baiting the older ones about how much cleavage and butt they could show.
One teenager even giggling on how her boyfriend showed his ‘appreciation’ of her wearing her micro bikini to the beach this summer. That opened up a whole new can of worms and steered the conversation away from the feather girls’ outfits. Betty, who had started the hornets’ nest, sat there watching and listening, grinning at bits and pieces but not saying much.
I just sat there two tables away nibbling on my lunch and taking a closer look at Betty. She was slim but not skinny from what I could tell. Probably around a B cup and somewhere around a 34-26-34, sporting nice legs. I was imagining what she’d look like in that skimpy top and thong with all the feathers and rhinestones. Even if the bottoms were actually flesh colored tights and a thong over, they still left very little to the imagination. Wondering if I would have been able to see a lump of nipple or outline of pussy lips…
Most of the ladies had finished their break and headed back out, while Betty was still sitting there with a couple of the more uninhibited younger ladies. “So what do you think Hank?”
“About the feather girls?”
I smiled and shrugged, “I’m a guy,” and took a sip of my drink.
Betty grinned and put her shoulders back a bit letting the lace texture of her bra show through her thin top having hung her jacket on the chair behind her. “So you don’t think we’d make good feather girls?” She was digging.
“I enjoy whatever the fairer sex allows me to see.”
“And since I don’t want to open myself up to sexual harassment charges I think that’s a conversation for another location,” and pointed to the security camera in the corner of the room.
“There’s no sound,” she responded.
I chuckled, “And they don’t hire people from the deaf school in surveillance just because they don’t get distracted, they also read lips.”
Betty’s eyes bugged out, wonder what she may have said in the past that she didn’t think about until now…
I really don’t see what those old fuddy duddies are making such a big fuss about. EVERY woman wants to be looked at. The fun part is if they keep looking. I mean jeeez, Marla, who cares if my panty lines show, you even bitch about when you can’t see them, giving me the lecture about good girls not running around without underwear. And like Zack says, ‘When I want to see my woman I want to see her.’ And the way he looks at me when I run around the apartment in my undies makes me tingle, even if he makes me cover up when we’re out of the apartment. He used to love looking down my tops even if I’m flat chested. I just wish he was home more. All that time on the road with the band, doesn’t leave us much time together. He even said as soon as he gets a good recording deal he’ll get me a boob job and I can have a real set of boobies, maybe then he won’t make me cover up.
Oh, now Desi has really gotten Marla wound up. Telling her about running around in her micro bikini teasing her fiancé. The way he kept grabbing at her and chasing her. I see the way the guys look at those feather girls, looking like they would love to bend them over and give them a good fucking right there. Making them scream in orgasm in the middle of the casino floor. I wonder if someone like Hank would ever do that? I mean he’s taking care of two women so he’s GOT to be good, and it looks like he’s got quite a package there. But could maltepe escort I even take a monster like that? Zack says they’re all fake if they are bigger than a roll of quarters, and anything more than a mouthful is wasteful, but then he used to say that about my boobs before. I wonder…
I grinned at her situation as I put my tray into the kitchen slot and headed back out onto the floor picking up a floor call in the high roller area on the way out.
I took care of a few more calls, ogled the feather girls like the rest of the guys, and a couple of our lesbian change girls, and had a nice night. I even got groped and kissed by a not so bad cougar at midnight! After the hubbub of the celebration died down and a fair amount of the semi drunk guests went off to their rooms to finish the job or get laid, I grabbed a box of parts and went to try and reassemble a problem child sit down machine.
I was on my back about halfway through putting things together with my head inside the machine when I heard a stool sliding on carpet. “This one’s out of order,” I called out.
“Are you sure about that Hank?” I heard back as I felt a foot along my hip.
I lifted my head enough to see a nice pair of stocking clad legs straddling mine, the light from the cabinet shining right up Betty’s short skirt almost to her crotch, highlighting the lace tops as she sat on the edge of the seat. “Hi Betty.”
She giggled and kept moving her foot ever so slightly against my hip. “So you never answered my question.”
“What question?” I knew, but she was going to have to say it, I wasn’t falling for a trap.
“What would you think of me as a feather girl?”
I slid out enough to see her face in the gap between the arm rest and the machine, then deliberately looked slowly down her body and back up to see her flushed face. “I would hazard a guess you’d do quite nicely, but having only seen some nice stocking covered legs it would be just a guess.”
Betty seemed disappointed, “Only nicely, huh?” letting her legs spread and her skirt ride up enough that I could see a hint of pink panty above the shimmer of her stocking, moving as she did.
I tried not to smile, “I would guess at tasty too, but that would be just a guess and not based on experience,” and licked my lips a little.
Betty looked around a bit and shifted to let the light shine beyond her legs and up to nice bright pink panties. “So tell me Hank, are you a leg and thigh man or do you prefer breast meat?”
Playing it coy are we? “Well I enjoy either, but dessert is my favorite. I love splitting a nice juicy peach and listening to it practically scream as I suck all the juice out. My only problem is I make such a mess of it getting it all over my face and chin.”
“Oh…” I heard, barely above all the noise.
Her chair scooted back and Betty left without another word. I got the machine back together, but it was still having problems so I put it back out of order and went to take care of a few guest problems.
FUCK I CAN’T BELIEVE I DID THAT! Hank’s cute and all, but he’s taken. But seeing him looking up at my legs and a little stocking I couldn’t help it, Zack’s been gone for over a week and I’m going through too many batteries. Why did I flash my stockings at him? I mean he probably already knows they’re stockings, the wide elastic feels so decadent on my thighs! And the way he was looking at my body, like I’m some babe or something. Acting like he’d really lick my puss. Come on, I mean Zack says a real man doesn’t do that, it’s a woman’s job to please her man, not the other way around. The porn movies that do that are just trying to cater to the weird skanks out there. But why was he grinning and licking his lips then?
I didn’t think much more about the conversation for the next few months, but the memory of Betty’s thighs and pink panties were another matter. Now instead of just enjoying a bare thigh when she knelt down, I was remembering what it looked like up her skirt and wishing the pink I saw wasn’t her panties. Fuck, I have to go relieve some tension again. Good thing the downstairs bathroom is a single!
I was working on another machine when a familiar long skirt walked up.
“Hey, could we… um… talk later?”
“Sure, I have a break coming up in about twenty minutes.”
“Someplace besides the break room…”
I had to smile to myself, “We’ll meet there and see what’s up.”
I couldn’t help it, I had to look as she walked away, and watch her butt trying to eat that skirt… made me wish I was her skirt.
I finished the machine, and taking my time since the young lady playing it had no problem letting her braless dark nipples stand out in a thin peach top. I wandered some more, up and down and around the machines, getting a glimpse of cleavage or leg here or there but not much more.
After taking a few more strolls around the machines I went upstairs to the break room and Betty was kartal escort waiting just inside. I grabbed a bottle of pop from the machine and she got up and went to the door, glancing at me but trying not to be noticed. She seemed relieved when I turned back to the door.
Zack made it home this week, and he brought Tyler home with him! That asshole was always grabbing at me when Zack wasn’t around. Zack even hinted once at the three of us hopping in bed, but EWWWWW. And then they bring home this skuzzy blonde reeking of cheap perfume. He drops his clothes off for me to wash before they run over to Tyler’s to practice, just giving me a quick kiss as he leaves. I mean what’s a girl to do. Almost two weeks and all I want for him to do is bend me over and take me, dip his dick in my puss for a bit then fill my ass. If I diddle my clit just right I can come when he does. I just hope he’s not drunk when we have sex, he always wants to cum on my face after he’s been in my ass. I mean I know it’s what I’m supposed to do, but I just can’t get used to it.
I put his stuff in the laundry, and I smell it, her perfume on his boxers. He let that skank blow him! It’s only supposed to be the groupies! He says blow jobs aren’t sex, it’s just keeping them happy so they buy more tickets, but they brought her home with them!
Zack’s drunk when he gets home, but at least the skank and Tyler aren’t with him. I confront him about the perfumed boxers. He doesn’t know what I’m talking about. The same perfume that the skank was wearing.
‘God Damn it woman, I’m trying to get a recording gig. Stay the fuck out of my business!’ Zack reaches back to hit me, but I duck and he hits the wall. Now it’s my fault he can’t practice. I just get out of there and drive around a while before I have to go in to work.
As soon as the door closed behind us, “Where can we talk?” Betty asks glancing up quick at the camera in the corner.
I think she was assuming I was going to lead her outside to the smoking area. Now, the break room was up on the top floor along with all the other mechanical stuff, leaving the lower floors for gaming and guest things. The South end of the roof had a patio and some coverings for the smokers, but there was another part of the roof area a lot of employees didn’t know about, it seems Betty included.
I led her out through a small door and then up and around the steps going over various duct-work and piping. Man, I wish she had worn a short skirt tonight.
We came out in a mostly unused corner of the roof, one the maintenance guys use to get away from the other employees. No patio, no nice table and chairs, just an old awning and some leftover mismatched chairs, enough for four or five at most, and the ever present executive table, otherwise known as an old wire spool.
I kept walking through the pea gravel over to the edge, leaning on the cap and taking a swig of my pop.
“WOW,” was all she said.
I snickered, “Little different without all the big lights huh?”
“Yeah, just all the street lights and cars laid out like a carpet.”
We stood there a bit enjoying the view, then I turned to look at Betty. Her profile in the backdrop, the little bump on the top of her nose. The way her hair fell around her face…
She saw me looking at her, and even in the low light I could see her blush. “What?”
“You wanted to talk.”
She let out a big sigh, “Yeah I did. It’s just that… I mean… we’ve worked together for a few years now, right?”
“Different parts of the same department, but yeah something like that.”
“So if I ask you something, will you give me an honest answer, no bullshit?”
I couldn’t remember the last time I heard Betty cuss, it made me smile, “Sure.”
Betty shuffled on her feet a bit took a few breaths, then blurted out, “What’s wrong with me?” staring off into the city like if she wasn’t looking at me, she didn’t have to acknowledge saying it out loud.
Where was this coming from? “What do you mean?”
Still not looking at me, “Why do I always attract the losers, the moochers, the wild and scary guys? Why can’t I attract guys like you, guys who want to do more than fight or jump my bones? Guys who want to take me out to dinner or a show.” The last part kinda dribbling out like she was running out of steam, “Hell, you’re living with two cocktail waitresses.”
I almost laughed at the last part. Yes I was living with two very hot babes that loved to run around in skimpy underwear at most, thought nothing about running from the shower to their room in just a towel on their heads. But almost all the orgasms from them were heard through the walls because for as beautiful as they were, they only had eyes for each other.
“You just haven’t found the right guy yet, you’re smart and beautiful, the right one will come along eventually.”
Betty snorted, “Guys aren’t looking for smart, they’re looking for boobs and ass. If you haven’t noticed I don’t have much of either. I wasted four years of college to end up a floor supervisor that only gets a guy that might take a swing at me once in a while. And would have to have the Encyclopedia Britannica open to carry on a halfway intelligent conversation to boot.”