by Downing Street
Laurel was walking home one day when she passed a man sitting on a park bench. He was wearing a dark blue suit. He looked like a young office worker. “Hello there,” he said, as Laurel passed by.
Laurel kept walking. She had been hit on often enough to know not to strike up conversations with strangers. Her flip-flops slapped against the pavement.
“Hold up a minute,” said the stranger. “Come sit down.”
Laurel stopped walking. She sat down on the bench, a good distance from the man in the suit. She regarded him through her oversize sunglasses. “My name is Bentworth,” he said. “Everyone calls me Ben, thank goodness. And you are?”
“Pretty name. Suits you. Do you walk through the park every day?”
“It’s the shortest route to my flat. Listen, I have to be going.”
He smiled. “Of course. I didn’t mean to detain you, lovely Laurel. Do you really find those sandals comfortable?”
“What?” His non sequitur caught her off guard.
He was looking at her feet. “Those flat sandals you’re wearing. They look so thin. You must feel every stone and pebble as you’re walking.”
She raised one foot. “These? They’re called flip-flops. They’re great. Everybody wears them.”
He grimaced. “I know. Completely unflattering. They make your stride . . . ponderous and heavy-footed. No support for the heel of your foot. Sandals like that belong on the beach.”
“Well, thanks for your input. I’m off now.”
He smiled. “Maybe we’ll talk again tomorrow.”
Laurel got up and walked away.
The man was sitting on the bench the next day when Laurel came by. He had his arms stretched out over the back of the bench. He appeared to be studying the squirrels in the massive linden tree overhanging the bench. He was wearing a different suit. Laurel had forgotten about him.
“Hello Laurel,” he said, as she hurried by. “Come join me for a moment.”
Laurel sat down beside him. “Warm today, isn’t it,” he said conversationally.
“Yes, it is rather warm.” She fussed with her sunglasses. They had big white frames.
“Those jeans must get hot in weather like this,” he continued.
Laurel thought about it. She was wearing trendy, close-fitting jeans and a yellow tank top. Stylish white sport shoes. She worked in a pretty casual setting. “They’re comfortable,” she replied. Laurel wore jeans every day.
He shrugged. “Women are lucky,” he said. “You have so much choice. You could wear a light skirt in this summer weather, it would be so much cooler. Me, I have to put on a suit every day.”
“I suppose so. I’m sorry, mister. . . ?”
“Ben,” he supplied.
“Right. I’m sorry Ben, but I have to get home. Good-bye.” She rose to leave.
“See you tomorrow, Laurel,” he called after her.
The man was there the next day too. “Sit down, Laurel,” he said, as she passed by.
Laurel sat down beside him. She drew in the fabric of her summer skirt. It was ankle-length and multicoloured. Her shoes were open-toed flats. “If I may say so, you do look smashing today,” the man said, admiring her. He was grinning like a schoolboy.
“Thank you . . . Ben,” Laurel replied cautiously. “I’ve had this skirt for years.”
“It’s lovely,” he went on. “You definitely should wear skirts more often.”
“Right. Whatever,” Laurel said, more unkindly than she intended. “I have to be going.”
“Oh, of course. Run along. Do your legs tan well?”
Laurel paused, half rising. “What was that?”
“You seem to have a rather even tan. Very attractive. I can’t tell about your legs though, because the skirt is so long.”
Laurel said: “I’m tanned there too.” What did he expect?
“Oh, I see. Well, that’s nice. I’m surprised you don’t wear something shorter to show it off. Most girls are terribly proud of their nicely tanned legs.”
“Good-bye Ben,” Laurel said curtly. She continued on her way home. Ben was smiling.
When Laurel arrived at the park the following afternoon, Ben was leaning over, trying to convince a park squirrel to take a peanut from his outstretched hand. The squirrel was ambivalent. Laurel said: “Ben, I have something to say to you.”
The squirrel scrambled up a nearby tree. Ben tossed the peanut on the grass. “Laurel. Well of course, come sit down.”
Laurel sat down on the bench beside him, though she hadn’t intended to. She felt the smooth surface of the bench against her bare thighs. She was wearing a denim miniskirt. It was typical of the blue-jeans skirts that were popular at that moment. Laurel seldom wore hers to work.
She began her rehearsed speech. “Look, I don’t want to talk to you any more. I don’t know what your game is, but if you are working up to asking me out, you may as well forget it now. You’re not my type and I don’t go out with strangers I meet in the park. I walk home this way every day and I would rather do so without interruption.”
Ben listened gravely. “I see,” he said after a moment. He pinched his chin in thought. “Tell me though, if you don’t want to talk with me, why do you walk home through the park every day, instead of taking some other route?”
Laurel was momentarily nonplussed. “Well I—that is, I . . . I don’t . . . I . . .” she frowned prettily.
“Well, let’s not worry about that,” Ben said breezily. “By the way, you’re right. Your tan is lovely.”
He nodded toward her bare thighs. “On your legs. Quite head-turning, I may say. No sense in covering up lovely stems like those.”
“There, you see!” Laurel pounced. “That’s what I’m talking about. You don’t know me, you have no business making comments about my . . . legs.” She tugged down her skirt officiously.
“Yes, of course I don’t. That’s rude of me. Please understand I meant it as a compliment. I was merely voicing my delight that you take such pride in your appearance.”
“Well, you can keep your delight to yourself.”
He grinned boyishly. He had an open, honest face. He was less than twenty-five, Laurel guessed. “I’ll do my best,” he agreed. “Though you do make it difficult, lovely Laurel. I take it your job has you on your feet much of the day?”
“No, I work at a desk mostly, except when—why do you keep asking me things like that?”
He shrugged. “I was guessing. You have a strong aversion to flattering footwear. I thought it was because you were standing a lot.”
Laurel looked down at her simple pams. They were a little worn, but comfortable. “There’s nothing wrong with my shoes,” she said defensively.
He shrugged again. “Of course there isn’t. Forget I mentioned it. You’re attractive enough that your many admirers will forgive any pedestrian pitfalls.”
“Now look here, mister—” Laurel bridled. Then she stopped herself. She drew a deep breath. “I’m going now.”
He smiled. “Always a pleasure chatting with you, Laurel. Otherwise I find myself conversing with squirrels. Do take some time for yourself this weekend, won’t you?” It was Friday afternoon.
“Yes, well I—good-bye Ben,” Laurel said. She got to her feet and continued on home. She tried not to look at her shoes.
It rained on Monday. Laurel had her umbrella out as she walked through the park on her way back to her flat. A man passing by checked out her legs from beneath his own umbrella.
The bench were Ben usually sat was bare. Laurel stopped and watched the raindrops splash on the varnished wooden slats. She was relieved, yet oddly disappointed. The heels on her new boots clicked on the wet pavement as she walked away.
The rain had passed by Tuesday. The weather turned cool. Laurel felt the breeze against her legs as she walked the familiar path through the park. A gardener working a flowerbed nearby looked up as she approached. He didn’t go back to work until she had passed around a hedge.
The reaction didn’t surprise Laurel. Her new cotton mini was a little shorter than the light spring jacket she wore over it. In deference to the turn in the weather, her legs were dressed in sleek black hose and low-heeled, suede ankle boots. The whole outfit was the result of a wardrobe-renewing shopping trip on the weekend. She had been drawing stares and compliments all day.
Ben was back on his usual bench. He was wearing a new tie. He was feeding the squirrels. “Laurel, how pleasant to see you,” he said as she approached. “Sit down.”
She sat down. “You look lovely,” he opined, frankly admiring her legs. “Sorry I missed you yesterday. The rain was cold.”
“Ben what is going on?” Laurel demanded.
“What are you doing to me? I mean, what have you—why can’t I wear jeans?”
He looked puzzled. “Whatever do you mean?”
“I mean, I can’t wear jeans. Ever since I met you it has been harder and harder to put on a pair of jeans. Now I can’t do it! I have a bureau full of jeans and I can’t make myself put them on! I’ve been wearing skirts and shorts all weekend.” She glared at him.
“Maybe you don’t really want to wear jeans any more. You’re so much more attractive in skirts anyway, lovely Laurel.”
“Don’t tell me what I want to wear. I know what I want to wear. I can’t put on my flip-flops any more either. Even around the house. Even in my own bedroom!“
“Just as well. Hideous things.”
“Never mind that! You—you’ve done something to me. You’re playing freaking head games. I’m putting an end to this right now.”
“Laurel, Laurel, please, calm down. Come on, take a deep breath. That’s right, now let it out slowly. That’s better. There’s nothing to be so upset about. Tell me honestly, is the outfit you’re wearing right now so positively uncomfortable?”
“Well . . . no, but—”
“Do you actually mind being the best looking, best dressed woman in the park? Is it truly upsetting to be admired as you walk down the street? Does knowing that you make a lasting, pleasant impression on every man you talk to bother you greatly?”
“I . . . well, that’s not the point, I—”
“. . . no.”
“Didn’t think so. You know what I do think? I think you are going through a bit of an awakening. You have come to realize what a charmingly attractive, sexy, young woman you are, and what a dynamite hottie you could be if you released your full potential.”
“That’s nonsense. I know how I look. I want to be comfortable.”
“Of course. I suppose that’s why you’re afraid to wear heels.”
“What now? Afraid to wear heels?“
He put up his hands. “My apologies. It was a hasty judgement. I thought for a moment that you never wear heels because . . . well, because you were playing down your own appearance, that’s all. It was a foolish thought. You look marvellous.”
“I’m going home,” Laurel said decisively. She got to her feet. Her legs looked long and splendid in the shiny black tights and low boots. She headed home.
“I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” Ben called after her.
When Laurel arrived at the park the following afternoon she was not alone. Her friend Toni was with her. Ben wasn’t alone either. He was talking casually to another woman. She was clearly an office worker, judged by her crisp white skirt-suit and white pumps. She was standing in front of Ben’s bench, one hand resting on the white purse over her shoulder. Her stance suggested she had been walking by when Ben spoke to her.
“This is the guy that you were talking about?” Toni said. “He’s cute.”
“Never mind cute. He’s a nuisance. He’s a pest. I can’t make him leave me alone.”
Toni took a draw on her long cigarette. “I’ll make him leave you alone,” she said. Toni knew how to handle obnoxious men.
They waited a few moments until the woman in white walked away. Ben was quite obviously gawking at her legs as she receded. The clip-clip of Laurel’s heels on the pavement drew his head around the other way. He smiled warmly.
“Laurel, how good to see you. You look lovely today, if I may be so bold. And I see you’ve brought a friend. Sit down, both of you!”
Toni sat down on the bench next to him. Laurel sat down beside her. She was wearing one of her denim miniskirts along with open-toed slides with two-inch heels. Toni drew deeply on her cigarette, sizing up her foe. She blew smoke off to one side.
“I’m Ben,” said the man in the Armani suit. “I do hope Laurel didn’t tell you my full name. And you would be . . . ?”
“Toni,” said Toni. She was slender and brown-haired. She wore a black jacket and pants with black pumps. “I understand you have been bothering my friend.” She took another puff, regarding him coolly.
“Oh, you really shouldn’t smoke, Toni,” Ben said.
She blew smoke. “It’s a public park.”
“Yes of course. I meant it’s not good for you. Terrible habit, smoking. Dirty and smelly, and all sorts of nasty health effects. You really should give it up.”
Toni tossed her cigarette on the grass beneath the bench. She ground it out beneath the toe of one shoe. “Better?” she asked.
“Considerably. Now Toni, let’s get to know each other a little. You work with lovely Laurel, do you?”
“We’re in the same building.”
“Have you known each other a long time?”
“Well . . . let me think, yeah, it’s been, what three—no, four years. Wait, that’s not—”
“And in all that time she’s never told you that black makes you look old?”
“What! Now look here—”
“Sorry! Sorry. Please pardon me. My tongue gets ahead of my brain sometimes. That was impetuous and rude. It’s the fashion I suppose. I see young, pretty women like you dressed so . . . soberly, so serious; it doesn’t seem right.
“There is nothing wrong with my clothes!”
He shrugged. “Of course there isn’t. You’re very chic. It’s my fault: I can’t help associating black suits with undertakers.”
Toni sprang to her feet. “This is pointless,” she said. She stomped off.
Laurel followed her. “Sorry!” she called back at Ben. She tripped along quickly to catch up with her friend.
“Well, that was weird,” Toni said, when they were out of earshot.
“I should have warned you, Ben says unexpected things sometimes.”
Toni fussed with her suit jacket. “Do you think black makes me look old?”
“No! I never said that. You wear black well. You look fine. Really. Maybe it’s not so good close to your face, with your complexion, but . . . what are you doing?”
Toni was digging around in her purse. She retrieved an open pack of cigarettes. She threw them forcefully into a rubbish bin.
Laurel was surprised. “Why did you do that?”
“I don’t know!” She marched away.
Ben was occupied again the next afternoon when Laurel passed through the park. He was sitting on his usual bench, conversing with one of the uniformed caretakers that roamed the park. The woman was wearing a rather abbreviated version of the navy blue uniform skirt, along with black leather boots. She laughed and moved away as Laurel approached.
“Hello lovely Laurel,” Ben said. He had a bag of peanuts in one hand.
“What was that about?” Laurel asked. She sat down on the bench beside him.
He looked guilty. “Evidently you’re not supposed to feed the squirrels.” He raised his gaze to a squirrel perched on a branch of the linden tree. “You won’t tell on me, will you my friend?” The squirrel gnawed at his peanut, unperturbed. He flicked his tail.
Ben grinned. “I think we’re safe. Well now Laurel, you do look especially fine today.”
She shrugged. “I got tired of wearing blue-jeans skirts all the time. And since I still can’t put on pants—”
“The alternative you have found is delightful,” Ben interrupted. He was probably referring to Laurel’s new skirt. It was a green and white tartan, and quite short, of course. The well-tanned legs Ben had speculated about were fully on display. Along with the skirt she wore a two-layer green and white top, a short jacket, and white, sling-backed booties with enough heel to shape her legs exquisitely. She was beginning to get a reputation as the office hottie.
“Ben, look, this is . . . ridiculous. I can’t go around in miniskirts night and day. It’s a perfectly ordinary thing to kick off your heels at the end of the day and wear something more comfortable around the house. I can’t . . . I wore this to the laundromat yesterday!”
He regarded her seriously. “Did anyone complain?”
“Complain? Of course not. They were too busy checking me out. There was—”
“Then I don’t see what the problem is.”
“Ben! I’m an adult, educated, independent female. I’m not some clothes mannequin for you to dress up as you please.”
He sighed. “Lovely Laurel I couldn’t agree more. The point is for you to dress up as you please. And for you to be pleased when you dress up.“
Ben tossed a peanut toward the squirrel, who pounced on it. “It all comes down to attitude,” he explained. “How you feel about yourself. What you believe life holds for you.”
“You’re not making any sense.”
“I’ll demonstrate. Tell me about your knickers.”
“I beg your—my which?”
“Your underthings. Panties, I believe you call them. Describe them for me.”
Laurel’s jaw worked for a few moments before anything came out. “W-w-well, they’re uhm, white. . . and, uh, cotton and . . . they’re just ordinary, department store panties.” Her face flushed red.
Ben shook his head. “I was afraid of that. Better give them to me.”
“WHAT!” She startled the squirrel.
“Those boring white cotton panties. Take them off. Give them to me.”
“Wait—you can’t mean—right here?”
“Yes, I mean right here and right now. The sooner we get you out of those things the better for you.” He looked at her expectantly.
Laurel looked about. The park was busy this time of the afternoon. It was a sunny day. People like her were walking home from work. Others were walking dogs or tossing frisbees. The colour in her cheeks flushed deeper. Eyes fixed straight ahead, she reached down with both hands and slid up the hem of her tartan mini. She lifted her bum off the park bench for a moment and tugged her panties down. As quickly as possible she yanked them down her legs and over her shoes. She handed them to Ben bunched up in her hand. She tugged her skirt back down.
The man in the pinstripe suit made no effort to hide his prize. He dangled the garment off two fingers like it was something he had caught in a trap. “These will never do,” he commented. He tossed the panties toward the nearest rubbish bin. They hung loosely over the edge.
Laurel watched her missing undergarments flap in the breeze. It was the same breeze she could feel between her legs. “Why—why did you—my panties!”
“There are two kinds of women,” Ben explained, “those who wear sexy underthings and those who don’t. Women who wear pretty foundations do it for themselves. They do it because it makes them feel pretty. They wear sexy undies even though no one else will ever see them—will even know they are wearing them—because they feel good about themselves and they think their body deserves fine things. More than that: they wear pretty undies because it’s possible, just possible, that this is the day that someone will see them, when they will have the great sexual encounter they have daydreamed and fantasized about.
“These women see every day as an adventure. They believe that life holds promise. Women who wear white cotton panties are glued to the practical. They are concerned only about not offending the doctors if they happen to have an accident.”
“Yes, but—” Laurel gazed longingly at her discarded panties.
“I don’t think you’re really that kind of woman, lovely Laurel,” Ben said.
Laurel fidgeted. She felt keenly exposed. If only this skirt weren’t so short. “I—I really have to go home!” she declared. She climbed to her feet. She walked away with one hand on her hem, lest it rise in the breeze. She flicked her discarded panties the rest of the way into the rubbish bin.
“How does it feel?” Ben asked, the following afternoon.
“Exposed,” Laurel replied. She was sitting beside him on the bench. “I feel like everyone can see me. I feel funny every time I walk.” Laurel was wearing a summer weight twinset over a different skirt, a pleated pink mini this time. The thin sweater was as flattering to her well-proportioned bust as the skirt was to her well-curved legs. She still wore her high-heeled white booties. She had combed out her hair so it looked fuller. She was wearing gold band earrings.
Ben chuckled. “That’s rather the idea. Pretty underthings are there to remind you that they’re barely there. They make you aware of your femininity, and that helps you feel feminine.”
“I could do with feeling a little less feminine when I bend over. My boss is always around when I have to get something from the filing cabinet.”
“Sounds to me like he appreciates having a beautiful woman around his office. What man wouldn’t?”
“You’re not the one putting up with come-ons from customers all day. I work in a print shop.”
Ben only chuckled again. “Tell me, where did you happen to find a thong among all your white cotton panties?”
She grimaced. “Old boyfriend. He was keen on seeing me in racy underwear. Preferably with nothing else. I still have a few items around.”
“I see. Probably not enough.”
She looked guarded. “What does that mean?”
Ben gave her that affable smile. “Nothing, nothing. It’s Friday though. You’ve been working all week. Maybe it’s time to indulge yourself.”
“You—you’re not suggesting . . .”
He shrugged. “The shops are open late.”
“Nobody calls them shops. They’re stores. And I am not going to the mall this evening.“
“Suit yourself. You have the whole weekend.”
“You’re impossible,” Laurel declared. She climbed to her feet. Her little pleated skirt lifted teasingly in the breeze. Somebody whistled.
“I’ll talk to you next week,” Ben said as Laurel clip-clopped away.
Monday was a hot day. Ben wasn’t on his bench when Laurel passed by after work. She was relieved. For one thing, she didn’t want to talk to him until she felt a little more at home in her new wardrobe. For another, she was a trifle embarrassed.
Of course she had gone shopping for sexy underwear on the weekend. She knew that she would, even as she was walking away from the bench on Friday afternoon. What she didn’t expect was that she would get so carried away. Or that the experience would be so viscerally exciting. By the time she climbed into bed in her new silk nightie on Saturday evening, Laurels fingers had given her a series of the best orgasms she had known in years.
Laurel was walking carefully when she arrived at the park on Tuesday afternoon. Her new shoes demanded it. They were gorgeous, red-and-white platform slings with extra-high heels. She had bought them on the weekend, even though they weren’t technically underwear. They cost an amount incommensurate with her budget. When she saw them in a store window she couldn’t help wondering what shoes like that would do for her legs. When she tried them on she discovered her imagination was spot on. The shoes made for a slow, deliberate stride, which only amplified the sway of her hips and the flow of her legs.
Along with the new shoes Laurel was wearing a cute red and white sundress. The dress was quite tight, and short, and sleeveless. It was just right for the hot summer weather. It showed off her tan too. Her legs weren’t bare though. She was wearing sexy white stockings that gartered at the top of her thighs with bright red ribbons.
As she entered the park, a man walking his dog actually walked into a tree. Laurel had been generating that reaction all day. It was disconcerting. And more exciting than she cared to admit.
When she arrived at Ben’s bench he was again talking with someone. It took Laurel a moment to realize the woman standing on the pavement was the office worker she had seen the week before. Laurel barely recognized her.
She was still dressed in white. Now she wore a tight, white pullover and white short-shorts, shiny pantyhose and white, wedge-heeled ankle boots. She had a dynamite figure, as all the world could now see. She was biting her lower lip as Ben calmly explained something to her. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow, Jasmine,” Ben said as the woman minced away. She was wearing white cotton gloves.
Laurel felt an unexpected pang of jealousy. “Who was that?” she demanded as she approached the bench.
Ben grinned. “Jasmine? Friend of mine. She works in the government building. Laurel, you look positively smashing.” He got to his feet. He held out a hand gallantly so that Laurel could lower herself onto the bench without losing her balance. Laurel sat. Her sundress slid up to the top of her thighs.
“She dresses like a tart,” Laurel declared cattily. “Not that I should be judging.” She brushed back her hair with one hand. Her fingernails were painted the same colour as her dress and shoes.
Ben waved a hand. “Oh, come now, lovely Laurel. Do you really miss slopping around in jeans?”
“Jeans? I threw all my blue jeans in a charity box. No point in keeping them if I can’t even put them on.”
“They’ll be appreciated by someone, I’m sure.”
“I pitched most of my underthings too. And my comfortable shoes.”
“These things didn’t suit you. You’re better off without them.”
“Better off? Ben, I look like an advertisement from a glossy fashion magazine.” She sighed deeply. Her half-covered breasts shook attractively. “Toni says I’m dressing like a porn star.”
He looked concerned. “Toni? Your forthright friend? That sounds a bit harsh, even for her.”
“She’s been in a bitchy mood ever since she quit smoking. Plus she’s obsessed with her clothes making her look old. Refuses to wear anything black. Even shoes or boots.”
“I’m sorry to hear this. Would you like me to speak with her? I could come by the park during the lunch hour.”
“I doubt she’ll come talk to you,” Laurel observed.
Ben grinned. “Tell her. She’ll come.”
Laurel pulled a compact and a lipstick tube out of her purse. She began to apply a fresh layer to her lips. She stopped suddenly. “What am I doing?“
“This is ridiculous. I spent so much time on my make-up this morning I was late for work.”
“How did your employer react?”
She smiled ruefully. “He was angry—for about ten seconds. Then he saw how I was dressed and he forgave me completely. The man was actually stuttering!”
“I c-c-can imagine,” Ben said.
Laurel crossed her knees. A young man playing frisbee nearby missed an easy catch. “Don’t tease me,” she said. “Do you have any idea what my day is like now? Every second customer makes a pass at me. Sometimes women! My boss practically salivates when I’m in the room. I can’t bend over the copy machines without drawing an audience. I was hit on eight times when I went out to get lunch!”
Ben patted her leg re-assuringly. “Laurel, Laurel, you still don’t understand how lucky you are.”
Laurel looked down at Ben’s hand, which was resting on her stocking-wrapped thigh. “L-lucky?” she asked nervously.
“Oh my word yes. You are a beautiful woman. When you choose to reveal that beauty, you can have the whole world eating out of your hand.”
“Uhm . . . speaking of hands . . .” His fingers feathered over her leg, a little higher on each pass.
“You see, men only pretend to be the stronger sex. The truth is, in the presence of a sensual woman we are as helpless as babies. Men are drawn to women like you, driven to please and protect you. Your attention is our reward. With a wink or a smile you can make a man swim the Channel for you.”
Laurel twitched. “Please. Your, your hand. I—I don’t think you should—” He was near the top of her stockings now. His fingers toyed with the red ribbons, just below the hem of her tight summer dress. Laurel looked about nervously.
“Instead of worrying about men approaching you, you should learn to enjoy it. Let them do things for you. Take advantage. Learn to flirt. You’ll be amazed how much fun you can have.” His hand slipped easily under her dress.
Laurel jumped. She uncrossed her knees. “Ben! Please! You shouldn’t be un—oh! Ohhhh!”
“What’s this now?” Ben asked conversationally. “Not white cotton knickers, surely.”
“No—oh! It’s—It’s—uhm, a th-thong. M-microfibre. Red to—oh noooo oh! Red to match . . . unh . . . my dressssss!” She closed her eyes and spasmed as Ben’s questing fingers found their way under her tiny thong and into her honeypot.
“Miss, is this man bothering you?” said a new voice.
Laurel looked up to see the park attendant standing in front of the bench. She was clearly trying to look stern and official. It didn’t work. Her uniform shirt was tied in a knot beneath her tits. Her skirt was micro-mini length, and her calf-high boots had long toes and high, narrow heels.
“B-bothering?” Laurel gasped. “Can’t you see? He, he’s got his fingers in my . . . ohhhh, and he’s touching . . . . oh goddd!” She bucked and squirmed.
“Ben,” the attendant said. “Leave the woman alone. Behave yourself.”
Ben picked up a peanut with his free hand. “Good little squirrel,” he said playfully.
The attendant’s stern facade collapsed. “No, Ben. Don’t. Not here.” She looked about worriedly. The fingers in Laurel’s pussy never stopped.
“Come on,” Ben urged, like he was talking to a six-year-old. “Be my good little squirrel. Want a peanut?”
The woman groaned. She squatted in front of the bench. Instantly Laurel could see right up her skirt. She was wearing nothing beneath her flashy pantyhose. The attendant folded her arms in front of her chest, wrists limp. She did a passable imitation of a chirping squirrel.
“That’s a good girl,” said Ben. He tossed her the peanut. The woman caught it deftly. She used both hands to bring it to her mouth.
She climbed to her feet. “Glory fuck, why does that make me so hot!” she exclaimed. She giggled brightly. “I’m a horny little squirrel. Gotta find me a buck who wants some tail!” She almost trotted off, wobbling unsteadily in her spike heels. She appeared to have forgotten Laurel completely.
“Now listen,” Ben said to the moaning, twitching woman beside him. “You should see what your sex appeal can do. Have fun with it. The next time you catch your boss staring, smile at him. Tease him. Then ask him for a favour. See what happens. OK?”
Laurel was barely listening. “Please. . . no . . . please stop, I . . . oh god I’m gonna cum . . . in the middle of the . . . ohhhhh the park!”
Ben’s hand was pistoning up and down now. His thumb flicked over her clit with every pass. Laurel was slumped on the bench, legs spread, panting helplessly. “When a man comes on to you, try fluffing him a bit. Give him a smile. Bat your eyelashes. See what you can get away with. Wouldn’t that be fun, lovely Laurel?”
“Oh god, so close, don’t stop, don’t ever stop, ohmygod almost there . . . almost . . . OH YES YES YES!” She doubled over in pleasure as the sweet orgasm took her. She gasped and bucked and fizzed all over his hand. Passers-by turned to look. Laurel trembled and twitched and moaned.
Eventually Ben withdrew his hand. He held it up to Laurel’s lips. She looked at it blearily. Without a word she pursed her red lips and sucked him clean. “Feeling better now?” Ben asked.
Laurel made a bit of effort to regain her poise. She pulled down her dress so it almost covered something. She got to her high-heeled feet. “I think—I think I’ll head home now.” She didn’t have to say anything more. They both knew she was going to go back to her flat and play with herself until her eyeballs fell out.
Laurel was a trifle late when she arrived at the park the following afternoon. She was walking carefully. She was wearing pretty summer slides with just a single strap across her toes but very tall, column heels in the back. The slides were intended more for looks than locomotion. Besides, the pavement seemed to be moving. She giggled loosely as she staggered along.
Ben was back on his bench as usual. A discarded newspaper lay on the bench beside him. He had both arms stretched out lazily along the back of the bench. He was passing the time of day with three cute teen girls, all wearing the uniform of a prestigious private school. Ben said something, smiling. The girls looked down at their shoes for a minute. They were wearing penny-loafers. Look out, Sacred Heart, Laurel thought, you’re about to have a wicked discipline problem.
She waited patiently until the girls passed on. They were laughing and giggling to themselves. One of them pointed at her shoes and said something the others seemed to agree with.
Laurel approached Ben’s bench. “Hi Benny!” she exclaimed.
Ben looked around from his inspection of the schoolgirl’s legs. “Laurel! How pleasant to—why my dear, you’re drunk!”
“I’m not drunk!” Laurel protested, swaying. " m jus’ a mite tipshy, tha’s all.”
“Well you had better sit down before you fall down,” Ben suggested. He got to his feet and helped guide her to the bench. She sat down heavily when she fell off her towering heels.
“Whoopsie!” she cried, then giggled. She crossed her knees lazily.
Ben sat down beside her. “Looks like someone has had a good day,” he commented.
She leaned against him. “I did jus’ wha’ you sgested,” she slurred, then hiccuped. “I got t’ work kinda late cuz I was mak’n m’self pretty. Boss tried t’ get all angry an’ rightchus but he couldn’ stop starin’ at m’body. Hic! We went ina his offish an’ I asked him f’r afernoon off. I was like, Pleeesh misser Starmey can I go lil early t’day? Pleeeese?” To dramatize the encounter she pressed her chest against Ben’s arm, cooing in his ear.
“I can see how that would be hard to resist,” Ben said. Laurel was wearing a half-length white sweater coupled with a low-riding, pleated pink miniskirt. Her midriff was bare from her sternum to her hips. Sheer nylons glistened on her fully exposed legs. She dangled one flimsy pink slide off her toes.
Laurel giggled. “He didn’ wanna lemmee go at firs. I talked him into it.”
“Welllll, I batted m’ eyelashes; an I kinda pouted, n’ got all flirty an’ sweet. Oh, n’ I gave im a handjob too.”
Ben laughed. “Of course he gave you the afternoon off.”
“Mmmm, wish pay! giggle”
“It looks to me like you spent your free afternoon in a pub.”
Laurel laughed drunkenly. “Wha’ planet er you from? Nobody callsh it a pub. Issa bar, silly. I wanted t’ shee if I could get someone t’ buy me a drink.”
Laurel turned sideways on the bench, throwing one leg across his lap. “Soon as I sat down!” she crowed. “An’ then he bought me nother one. Then nother guy bought me one. Everybody bought me drinkies! Even the bartender! I jus’ hadda smile and flirt and tend t’ listen an’ cross my legs. You were right, Benny! I’s such fun.” She kissed him on the cheek. “Now I gotta go.“
He had one arm around her back. “Already? You’ve only arrived.”
She hiccuped. “Gotta go home an’ jill off. Whoops! Did I shay that out loud?” She hugged Ben close while she shook with laughter.
Ben slid a hand lazily up and down one nyloned leg. “We can do something about that right now,” he said.
She looked at him blearily. “Wha? Here?”
“Come around here.” He guided her to her feet. She leaned heavily on him as he led her around behind the bench. He had some difficulty removing his suit jacket with a smashed babe clinging to him. He laid the jacket on the ground. “Don’t want you to get grass stains,” he explained.
He leaned against the back of the bench. “Come here, lovely Laurel,” he ordered. “I have just the thing for a horny hottie like you.”
Laurel protested. “You are insane! D’ you reallllly thin’ I’m gonna suck you off ina park?” She was already sliding down his body onto her knees. “We’re gonna get rested,” she predicted, as she slid his zipper down. It took a little gentle persistence to free his wang because he was already half erect. Laurel began working on getting him the rest of the way.
She held him in one hand, from below. She kissed his cockhead tenderly. Even with the alcohol clouding her senses, Laurel was acutely aware that she was fondling a man’s cock under a tree in a public park. She could hear voices from other people nearby. She was moistening. She licked his length experimentally. It was too much to resist. With a sigh of delight she pursed her red-glossed lips and drew him in.
She began to suck happily. She was kneeling on the grass, ruining his suit jacket, bobbing her head up and down, up and down, while a squirrel chattered in the linden tree. She jacked him gently below the reach of her lips. She made contented sounds around his cock. She heard Ben groan gratifyingly above her. She wondered if she would finish before they were interrupted.
Her question was soon answered. She heard a harsh female voice cry: “My god what are you DOING! You can’t do that in the middle of the park!”
Reluctantly, Laurel pulled her lips off Ben’s stiffie. She looked past his hips to see an overweight woman in a track suit standing on the pavement. Her mouth was hanging open in shock. Ben laid one hand on Laurel’s head and gently guided her back to him. “Don’t worry yourself, I’ll handle this,” he told her.
Laurel eagerly returned to sucking. She heard Ben talking to the interloper. “I’m, oh my, I’m sorry to offend you so madam,” he said, “but you see, my friend here is, ahhhhhh, a trifle inebriated and rather h-horny so I thought I might indulge her.” His speech was a little less fluid than usual. Laurel used her tongue. He jerked.
The other woman was nonplussed. “But—but—for the lovagod you’re having sex in PUBLIC!”
Ben placed both hands on Laurel’s head, urging her deeper. “Yes!” he proclaimed. “Yes we are! It’s . . . too late . . . too good . . . to stop now. So what, ohhhhhhh, what do you propose to do?”
“What am I going to do? What am I going to do?” the offended woman screeched. “I’ll tell you what I’m going to do, you lawless pervert! I’m going right back on my diet and I’m going to bloody well stay on it till I reach my ideal weight, and I don’t care if takes two years! Then we’ll see who gets to give blokes head in the park!” She turned and stomped away, a look of fierce determination on her face.
“Ohhhh man,” Ben exclaimed, throwing his head back. “I love it—love it—when people are. . . people are . . . oh yes . . . REASONABLE!” The last word was a shout. He stiffened, spasmed and spurted into Laurel’s pistoning mouth. She sucked and swallowed. He groaned in release as he came. She stayed with him until his climax had subsided to a series of small, grunting, hip flexes.
Ben let out his breath. “Lovely Laurel that was . . . exquisite.” He pulled up his pants.
Laurel looked around blearily. The whole park seemed to be spinning. “I think—I think I be’er go home now,” she mumbled.
Ben was tightening his belt. “I’ll call you a taxicab,” he said.
“Goo’ idea,” Laurel murmured. She slumped forward against his legs and fell asleep.
On Friday, Laurel got off work early. It was barely 4 o’clock when she ambled lazily into the park, swinging her purse in one hand. Her besotted boss hadn’t wanted to let her go. Business had perked up measurably since Laurel began flirting with all the customers, even though she no longer did much real work. She did handle customer complaints very effectively. Laurel’s boss had hoped she would stick around until the afternoon peak was over. It had proved necessary to blow him behind the front counter to change his mind.
Laurel’s high-heeled black boots tapped on the sidewalk as she made her unhurried way through the park. Heads turned and conversations stopped as she passed by. She hadn’t walked through the park once this week without being asked out on a date.
Laurel waited until a couple of office workers were getting an eyeful, then stopped and carefully adjusted one stocking. Her little pleated skirt simply gave up trying to cover anything as she bent over. The skirt was royal purple, the same colour as the tit-hugging bandeau beneath her see-through mesh top. When she was certain the two fellas had seen enough to keep them smiling for the next hour, she continued on her way.
Ben was sitting on his bench as usual. He folded up his newspaper when he heard Laurel approaching. “Hi Ben!” she greeted him. She sat down beside him.
“Well, lovely Laurel,” Ben said cheerfully. “How are you today?”
She pouted. “I’m horny.” She turned sideways on the bench and extended one long, booted leg down between his until she was half in his lap. Her stockings were dark blue with a pattern of glowing red lines up the sides. She slid her arms around his neck. “Can we like, go someplace and fuck?” she pleaded.
Ben laughed gently. “Last time we tried that we almost got arrested.”
“I don’t care,” said the foxy beauty in his arms. “I’m in the mood.” She began to kiss his lips and cheeks, leaving lipstick marks. She was wearing dramatic, liquid-metal make-up on her eyelids.
There was a sound of heels on the pavement nearby. A couple of school girls passed by. “Hi Ben!” cried one. “I see you’re busy.” They both exploded in giggles.
“We’ll talk tomorrow, OK?” said the other girl. Both girls were in their school uniforms. Their skirts were shorter than the last time Laurel saw them. Much shorter. They both wore dark blue stockings that extended half-way up their thighs. They had discarded their pams and loafers in favour of kitten-heeled slides.
“Hi there Lena, Cloe,” Ben replied. “I’ll catch you later, right?” He slid one hand lazily up Laurel’s leg as he spoke. The girls watched longingly.
“Toni dresses like that,” Laurel commented, as the pretty teens tottered away. She giggled. “She looks totally hot. She says she doesn’t want anyone thinking she’s getting old.” She returned to kissing Ben’s face.
“How’s she handling the smoking now?” His hand drifted up her stocking.
Another giggle. “She’s found something new to suck on: a soother! She looks so cute sitting at her desk in her schoolgirl outfits, suckling away. You talked to her, didn’t you? Oh!” The last exclamation came as Ben’s hand found it’s target.
“We had a little chat. She—mmmmmmmm!” He was cut off when Laurel impetuously began to kiss him hotly, on the lips.
“I don’ wanna talk about Toni. I wanna fuck,” she whispered. “Oh, you’re driving me crazy!” His hand was busy under her miniskirt. She leaned back, pulling him with her, until she was lying on the bench with Ben on top of her. Her legs were entangled with his. She made coital motions with her hips.
He kissed her. They necked and petted there on the bench, while people passed by around them. Somehow his free hand found its way to one barely covered breast. Laurel moaned between kisses. Off in the distance, she heard someone say “. . . that’s right baby, I’m your horny lil squirrel; won’t you show me your nuts?”
“Would you like to come home with me?” Ben asked, a few minutes later. “Have some dinner. Meet the other girls.”
Laurel was breathing hard. “Other . . . <gasp, pant> girls? There’s others?“
He grinned his disarming grin. “You’ll find them quite friendly. And very open-minded.“
Laurel gazed up with lidded eyes. “As long as you promise to fuck me, Bentworth,” she sighed.
The squirrel in the linden tree watched as the couple strolled away through the park.