Thongs

Thong Girls
Chap­ter 1 — A Dirty Job
No one knows where it first start­ed. Some peo­ple say they’re not sure how it will all end.

It first came to my desk not quite three months ago. It was a slow news day which when you’re a re­porter like me is never a good thing. Any­way, I was sit­ting at my desk try­ing to think of some­thing pithy to say for the col­umn I was writ­ing when Mathil­da Gruff was brought to my desk.

Now if the mere name Mathil­da Gruff con­jures up the image of a mid­dle-aged busy body who prob­a­bly hadn’t been laid in months, then you al­ready know what Mathil­da Gruff looks like. For those of you who didn’t get that image, let me say that Mathil­da Gruff was a mid­dle-aged busy body who hadn’t been laid in months.

I mo­tioned for Mathil­da to take a seat for the very sim­ple rea­son that I didn’t want her to see the game of soli­taire that I had been play­ing on my com­put­er. “Can I help you,” I asked.

“I want you to shut them down.”

Quite rea­son­ably, I asked, “Shut who down?”

“Them,” she said. “Those cof­fee hous­es. I want you to shut them down.”

“What cof­fee hous­es?”

Mathil­da Gruff’s sigh left lit­tle to my imag­i­na­tion. In her mind, I was un­doubt­ed­ly the stupi­dest man she’d ever met, or at least, I was the stupi­dest man she’d met in the last ten min­utes. “I want you to shut them down,” she said. “I want you to shut down the thong girl cof­fee hous­es.”

There was an ob­vi­ous ques­tion and since it was an ob­vi­ous ques­tion and since I’m a re­porter who is paid to ask the ob­vi­ous ques­tions, I asked it. “What’s a thong girl cof­fee house?”

Mathil­da Gruff looked at me as if I was so stupid and she gave me an­oth­er one of her sighs be­fore she fi­nal­ly an­swered. “The girls in the cof­fee shops are wear­ing thongs and … and other things. Re­vealling things. Dis­gust­ing things de­signed to tit­ti­late the cus­tomers.”

I wasn’t sure if that, ex­act­ly, was what Mathil­da had in mind but she cer­tain­ly had my in­ter­est. “Tit­ti­late the cus­tomers,” I asked. “Which cof­fee shop did you say this was?”

“It’s not just one cof­fee shop. It’s all of them. They’re all just a bunch of smut havens.”

“Well, if it’s all of them, then it sounds like what you re­al­ly want is to shut down all cof­fee hous­es.”

She gave me yet an­oth­er of her sighs that was de­signed to tell me just how stupid I was. “I don’t want them to be shut down. I just want them to stop ped­dling their smut.”

“Smut, Mrs. Gruff. Re­al­ly?”

“Yes, re­al­ly. Those girls are sluts, and the thongs were just the be­gin­ning.”

“The be­gin­ning?”

Mathil­da Gruff nod­ded em­phat­i­cal­ly. She was cer­tain­ly warm­ing to her task now. “The thongs were only the be­gin­ning. I think they’re com­pet­ing with one an­oth­er, try­ing to outdo the other and I’ve been see­ing those thong girls hav­ing S-E-X.”

“I see. Would that be with each other or with the cus­tomers?”

“Don’t you dis­miss me,” she told me. “I will not be tri­fled with.”

“I un­der­stand, Mrs. Gruff, and I as­sure you, we will be look­ing into it.”

She looked at me as if she were try­ing to as­sess just how like­ly I was to do what I said I was going to do and then she gave me a sniff and she got up. “I’ve got my eye on you, Mr. McAdams,” she said fi­nal­ly. “I ex­pect you to fol­low through.”

I told her I would and I kept my face as straight as I could until I’d fi­nal­ly ush­ered her out of my of­fice, and it was only after I’d sat back down that I fi­nal­ly let my­self laugh. Ac­tu­al­ly, it was sad re­al­ly. Here was this woman that thought girls were hav­ing sex in cof­fee hous­es mere­ly be­cause of the type of un­der­wear they wore. Sad, I thought again, but hard­ly worth my time.

And it might have ended there ex­cept that on my way home from work, I was stopped at a traf­fic light and in front of me on the right was a cof­fee house. I could have passed it by but Mathil­da Gruff was still fresh in my mind and on a whim, when the light changed green, I moved for­ward and pulled into the cof­fee shop’s park­ing lot.

The first thing I no­ticed when I got there was the noise. There was music play­ing and some­one had turned it up loud­er than it should be. I’ve al­ways hated that and I made a men­tal note of it, al­most as if I were get­ting ready to write a re­view of the place.

The place was crowd­ed, more crowd­ed than I would have thought it might be but as I took my place in line, I didn’t see a sin­gle thong.

As the line moved for­ward, I looked around me. As far as I could tell, sex was not run­ning ram­pant among the pa­trons of this cof­fee house, at least.

And then it was my turn at the front of the line. I freely admit that this re­search was high­ly non-sci­en­tif­ic but I put in my order. “Say,” I told the girl tak­ing the or­ders, “some­one told me you guys were wear­ing thongs in here.” Man, I felt stupid say­ing that.

“You want to see my thong,” said the girl asked the counter.

“Yes, I mean no, I mean, I was just ask­ing you know. I mean, I don’t want to cause any trou­ble, you know.”

“It’s no trou­ble at all,” the girl said. She al­ready had her jeans opened and she was push­ing them down past her hips. “See,” she said. “Here it is.”

I cer­tain­ly did see. The girl was wear­ing a lit­tle, yel­low thong.

“I, um, I … thanks for show­ing that to me.”

“It’s no trou­ble at all,” the girl said. “All you had to do was ask.”

I couldn’t help but no­tice the look that the girl who was mak­ing my drink gave me when she fi­nal­ly hand­ed it over. If I didn’t know bet­ter, I would have said she looked hurt.

I took my drink and found a place in the cor­ner to sit and think. To tell the truth, if I went to a cof­fee house at all, which was rare enough as it was, I would have taken my drink to go, but this was a fact find­ing trip so I took my drink and went and sat in the cor­ner.

The crowd seemed to be dying down. I fig­ured I’d prob­a­bly caught the tail end of the after work crowd and it was too early for the night out crowd, and that was just fine with me.

The girl be­hind the counter came up to me. “Can I sit here,” she asked.

“Sure.”

The girl slid into a seat. “I think Gina’s mad at you,” she said.

“Gina,” I asked. “Who’s Gina?”

“She’s the one who makes the drinks. Well, we both do, but she does it more than me.”

I nod­ded. “So why is Gina mad at me.”

“Gina’s wear­ing a G-string. She told me I should stop wear­ing jeans like she has. She said that’s the way to get my­self no­ticed, but you asked about my thong, in­stead. Did you like it, by the way?”

“Like what?”

“My thong. Did you like it?”

“Yeah,” I said. “It looks great.”

“I’m glad. I only bought it last week so I was hop­ing it looked good.”

“It looks great,” I as­sured her.

“I’m glad.”

“So, um, so this might be a per­son­al ques­tion, but do all the girls here …”

“Do all the girls wear thongs or g-strings?”

“Oh no.”

“No?”

“Sure. Some girls wear noth­ing at all but I can’t do that?”

I shook my head. I just wasn’t sure I’d heard what I thought I’d heard. “Can’t do what?”

“You know. Wear noth­ing at all. I mean, we’re mak­ing cof­fee back there. What if some­thing splash­es out. That is one place I don’t want to get burned, but if you want to know what I mean, all you got to do is look at So­phie.”

I couldn’t help my­self. “Who’s So­phie,” I asked.

“Oh, she’s not here right now, but she’ll be in later but if you want to see her pussy, all you got to do is ask. Speak­ing of which …”

It took me a sec­ond to re­al­ize what she was doing. “No wait,” I said.

But she was al­ready lean­ing clos­er and her hand was al­ready be­tween my legs. “Come on,” she said. “We all know why guys like you come in here.”

I want­ed to tell her no but she al­ready had her hand in my lap.

“Oooh,” she purred. “What do we have in here?”

I groaned. I knew I should tell her no, but I just couldn’t.

I could feel her slid­ing my zip­per down and then she was push­ing her hand in­side my pants and she was wrap­ping her hand around my cock.

“Do you want me to suck on this,” she asked.

I knew I should have said no but I said noth­ing and I guess as far as the girl was con­cerned, that was as good as a yes be­cause that was all it took for her to haul my cock out into the light.

Her hand stroked me and she looked up at me. “I’m re­al­ly going to like this,” she told me, and then as if to make sure I be­lieved what she said, she opened her mouth and she slid her­self down around my cock.

Okay, I’ll admit it. I’d come in there to do a lit­tle re­search but al­most from the mo­ment she got her mouth down around my cock, from that mo­ment on, all I could think of was how good her mouth felt around my cock.

And she wasn’t stop­ping, ei­ther. Slow and steady, that’s the way she was doing it, and it just felt so good.

I sup­pose I should have been look­ing around, look­ing around and see­ing if any­one was watch­ing me but the truth was as soon as that girl had her mouth on my cock, I couldn’t think of any­thing else ex­cept for what her mouth felt like, and I knew I want­ed to do it. I knew I want­ed to cum in her mouth.

And still, she kept on suck­ing.

Oh God. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t hold back any­more. I knew I should have warned her what was com­ing, but I didn’t.

She had to know what I was doing and yet she just kept suck­ing my cock even as I con­tin­ued to cum in her mouth. Fuck, that felt good.

And the most amaz­ing thing was she just kept right on suck­ing even as I con­tin­ued to cum. I couldn’t be­lieve it. She wasn’t just suck­ing but she was swal­low­ing, too.

She pulled her mouth up off of me and she flashed me a shy, lit­tle grin. “How was that,” she asked. “Did I do a good job?”

Did she what? Was she se­ri­ous? She’d just given me the best blow job I’d ever got, (okay, the only blow job I’d ever got,) and yet here she was ask­ing me if she’d done a good job and yet just by look­ing at her, I could tell, she re­al­ly want­ed to know. “Yeah,” I told her. “Yeah. You did great.”

I couldn’t help but no­tice that her hand hadn’t left my cock. She gave my cock a squeeze. “I’m glad,” she said. “I’ve only been work­ing here a cou­ple of weeks, but I’m re­al­ly glad to hear you say that.”

“Do you want some­thing,” I asked.

“Yeah,” she said.

“What do you want?”

Her hand squeezed my cock. “Well, I was won­der­ing …”

“You were won­der­ing what?”

“I was won­der­ing if you want­ed to do some­thing else.”

Okay, I’m not dumb, but re­al­ly, I had no idea what she was talk­ing about. “Some­thing else,” I asked.

Her hand squeezed my cock. “You know,” she said coyly. “Some­thing else. Some­thing … more.”

I still didn’t get it. “Some­thing … wait a minute! You’re not say­ing what I think you’re say­ing.”

Her hand con­tin­ued to stroke my cock. “I don’t know,” she said. “It all de­pends on what you think I’m ask­ing. What do you think I’m ask­ing?”

What was I think­ing? Was she just toy­ing with me? Screw with the re­porter. Nah. She didn’t even know I was a re­porter. Maybe she was just screw­ing with me for no other rea­son than that was what she want­ed to do. The only thing I didn’t think she was play­ing me. I thought she re­al­ly meant it. “I think you’re telling me you want to have sex with me.”

She didn’t stop. Her hand kept stroking my cock. “Then I guess we’re talk­ing about the same thing.”

I couldn’t be­lieve I was say­ing this. “Where do you want to go,” I asked.

“Go?”

“Yeah. Where do you want to go?”

“But I can’t go any­where. I’m still on duty.”

“But I don’t … wait a minute. You mean you want to do it here?”

Her hand had never stopped stroking my cock and she wasn’t stop­ping now. “Why not,” she asked.

“Why not? This is a pub­lic place for one thing. Peo­ple might see.”

“So?”

“So this is a pub­lic place,” I re­peat­ed.

Her hand con­tin­ued to stroke my cock. “So let me get this straight. It’s okay for you to let me suck your cock but it’s not okay for you to let me ride your cock.” Her hand squeezed my rigid mem­ber. “Come on,” she said. “It’s not like I don’t know what you want.” Her hand gave my cock an­oth­er squeeze. “I can tell what you want.”

Okay, she had me there.

“Come on,” she said. “It’ll be fun.”

“I … I’m not going to do that.”

“Come on,” she said. “It’ll be my first time, too.”

“Your first time?”

“I’ve only been work­ing here a cou­ple of weeks, you know, but I want you to be my first.”

I couldn’t help won­der­ing if that was just a line that she told all the guys but I had to admit that if it was a line, she de­liv­ered it well.

“Come on,” she said again and she punc­tu­at­ed that with an­oth­er squeeze of my cock, “I want to ride you. It’ll be fun.”

I couldn’t be­lieve I was even con­sid­er­ing it but to my cred­it, I shook my head. “I can’t,” I said.

The girl seemed gen­uine­ly hurt. “It’s be­cause you like Gina bet­ter, isn’t it? I’ll bet you’d let her come over here and suck your dick, wouldn’t you, and I’d bet you’d let her ride your dick, too.”

Over the girl’s shoul­der, I could see Gina watch­ing her. “What, no,” I told her.

“No? So you do want to fuck me?”

Ac­tu­al­ly, yes, but I wasn’t going to tell her that.

And she wasn’t about to let it drop ei­ther. “Well,” she asked as she stroked my cock. “Which is it? Do you want me to fuck you?”

Still, I said noth­ing.

Her hand was stroking me hard­er and she was look­ing me in the eyes. “You know you can’t get away with say­ing noth­ing,” she said. “You’re going to have to say some­thing.”

I was find­ing it so hard to think with what her hand was doing to my cock.

“Come on. Do you want me to fuck you?”

“Yes.” I hadn’t even re­al­ized I’d said it. It just leaked out but sud­den­ly, there it was. Yes, I want­ed her to fuck me.

If I’d ex­pect­ed any­thing to change with my ad­mis­sion, I was going to find out just how wrong I was be­cause at first, noth­ing changed. She was still there, stroking my cock and I was still there, moan­ing as she did it.

She leaned in close and her mouth was al­most up against my ear but her hand never left my cock. “Is Gina still watch­ing,” she whis­pered.

“Yes,” I whis­pered back.

“Good, ‘cause she’s been teas­ing me long enough. I want her to see this.”

She pulled back. “Let me take your pants off,” she said.

It was my last chance. I could have stopped her if I want­ed to, but the truth was I didn’t want to. I let her take my pants off and I let her take my un­der­wear down.

Her hand was back again on my cock. “Do you like it when I do this,” she asked.

I’ll admit it. I pret­ty much wasn’t think­ing any­more, or if I was think­ing, the only thing I was think­ing about was her hand on my cock. “Yeah,” I told her. “I like it. I like it a lot.”

“Do you want to see my pussy?”

She al­ready knew what my an­swer was going to be even be­fore I said it. “Yeah,” I told her. “I want to see your pussy.”

She hes­i­tat­ed for just a mo­ment and then she stood. I watched her take off her jeans and once more, I got an­oth­er look at her bright, yel­low thong, but it was only for a mo­ment, be­cause mo­ments later, her thong was on top of her jeans and she was climb­ing onto my lap.

Her legs strad­dled mine and once more, she wrapped her fin­gers around my cock. “I re­al­ly want to feel this,” she mur­mured.

She wasn’t wait­ing for a reply from me be­cause I could feel her pussy mov­ing into place. She still held my cock even as she moved the head of it be­tween my lips and then she fi­nal­ly re­lin­quished her hold on it even as she pushed her pussy down upon my shaft.

“Oh fuck,” she groaned and to tell the truth, I had to agree with her. Oh fuck in­deed. Her pussy felt so good around my cock.

She was work­ing her­self even deep­er onto my cock and there was some­thing that was just so hot about hav­ing a girl try and push her pussy down on my cock.

She seemed to have got­ten as much as me as she could in­side her pussy and for a mo­ment, she just stayed where she was, al­most as if she were get­ting used to the feel of me in­side her pussy. Hell, for all I know, maybe that was ex­act­ly what was going through her mind.

She start­ed slow­ly at first, pulling her pussy up and then thrust­ing her­self back down again but with every cycle of that pussy, she took me a lit­tle hard­er and a lit­tle faster.

“How’s that,” she moaned. “How do you like that pussy?”

“’T’s good,” I moaned back.

“Yeah,” she moaned. “Yeah, it’s good.”

I couldn’t agree with her more.

“I love the feel of your cock. I love the feel of it be­tween my legs.”

That made two of us, I thought.

“Oh God,” she moaned. “Oh God. Grab my ass.”

“W-what?”

“You heard me,” she moaned. “Grab my ass. I want to feel it. I want to feel your hands on my ass.”

I grabbed her ass.

“Squeeze me,” she moaned. “Squeeze me.”

“Huh.”

“Squeeze me,” she said again. “Squeeze me. I want you to squeeze my ass.”

The girl moaned as my hands squeezed her butt.

“I want you to make me cum,” the girl moaned.

That made two of us, I thought.

“I want you to make me cum,” the girl moaned again even as she rode me hard­er.

I didn’t know about her but I was pret­ty sure about me. The way her pussy was rid­ing my cock, I was sur­prised I hadn’t cum al­ready.

“Make me cum,” she begged. “Make me cum.”

I could feel it hap­pen­ing. I could feel the pres­sure build­ing up in­side of me. I couldn’t stop it and I knew I didn’t want to stop it.

“Make me cum.”

I could feel my cock surge. I could feel my­self cum­ming in­side that tight, lit­tle pussy. I couldn’t help my­self and to be hon­est, I didn’t want to hold back. I want­ed to feel what it felt like to cum in­side that tight, lit­tle pussy.

“Oh God,” the girl moaned. “Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.” And that’s when I got it. Her pussy just wasn’t tight. Her pussy was even tighter than it had been be­fore. “Oh God,” the girl moaned yet again. “Oh God, that’s it. Make me cum. Make me cum. Make me … me … oh God, yeah, make me cum.”

Re­al­ly, to be hon­est, I wasn’t doing much of any­thing. I sup­plied the dick but ev­ery­thing else, she’d done her­self, but then I wasn’t about to re­mind her of that.

“Oh God,” she moaned yet again. “Oh God, that’s good. Make me cum. Make me cum.”

She col­lapsed against me and I re­mem­ber think­ing that it would have been nice if she’d taken her shirt off first be­cause then I would have been able to see her tits.

My cock was start­ing to lose some of its rigid­i­ty and she pulled back, try­ing to hold me in­side her pussy, but my cock wouldn’t stay put, and I could feel it as it slipped free from her pussy’s warm and wet em­brace. She leaned down and kissed me and then she kissed me again be­fore she fi­nal­ly pulled back. “That was fun,” she said.

Fun was hard­ly the word for it, I thought.

“And to think,” she went on, “not all that long ago, I wouldn’t have done this.”

“Huh?”

“I said not that long ago, I wouldn’t have done some­thing like this.”

There was some­thing in that, some­thing that seemed to set off bells and whis­tles in my re­porter’s mind. “You wouldn’t have done it,” I said. “Then why are you doing it now?”

“I don’t know. I just am.”

That wasn’t a good enough an­swer. I knew it and I think she did, too. “Some­thing must have changed,” I said. “What changed?”

“Huh?”

“Some­thing had to have changed.”

“I don’t know what you’re talk­ing about.”

“Sure you do.”

She was start­ing to get antsy and I could tell my ques­tions were up­set­ting her. To be hon­est, I don’t think she even knew the whole truth but I had to try to get it out of her. “What changed,” I asked again.

“I don’t know.”

“When did it hap­pen?”

“When did what hap­pen?”

“When did things start to change?”

“When did what start to change?”

“You said things changed. When did they change.”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. About two weeks ago, I guess.”

“About two weeks … you mean, about when you start­ed work­ing here, right?”

“I guess.”

That’s when it all start­ed to come to­geth­er. What Mathil­da Gruff had said. She wasn’t just some crazy, old woman. She was right. There was some­thing going on in the cof­fee hous­es. Some­thing that was turn­ing girls into sluts, and I was going to have to find out what it was, even if it meant I had to go to in­ves­ti­gate every sin­gle thong girl in every sin­gle cof­fee house.

It was a dirty job, but some­one had to do it.
(1 of 14) →
Story: Thong Girls
Author: Lisa Teez
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