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.
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"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!
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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 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?"
"Hmmmm?"
