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Making a Weakness her Strength Part 1
By
ColandCarol

Making a Weakness her Strength Part 1

A young woman's weakness for sexual excitement is so strong she struggles to contain her urges
Week 1

I had finished the first assignment the temp agency had given me. It was only one day a week, 8.00 'til 2.00, filling in while someone was on a course for a month, but at least I was going onto another job straight away.

While standing at the stop waiting for a bus that would take me to it my mobile rang. It was Heather, my flat mate, asking how I had got on, which was real sweet of her. The traffic was noisy so I walked away from the road to shelter at the side of a building. I crossed a large grill to get into a corner - although concentrating on the call I hardly realised it.

The sound of my shoes on the metal roused interest from inside as a window opened and faces appeared below. I saw them well enough, standing just to the side of the grill, but as I was still speaking to my friend I thought it best to ignore them. It was all too apparent that they were not ignoring me, though...

The faces belonged to two young men, in their late teens, clearly taking the opportunity to look up my skirt. I felt confused and embarrassed; I didn't want to let my friend on the phone become aware of my predicament but I could not get further away from the prying eyes. Still pretending I had not seen them I pressed myself into the corner as far as I could. I was pretty sure they were getting quite a good show of leg but little else, so I contented myself with the thought that my modesty was intact!

Then of course the bus came. My options seemed limited... to remonstrate, telling the guys to shut their window so I could get back across the grill without them looking? Miss the bus and wait until they got bored? Or what I decided to do in the seconds I had to think. Somehow the thought of not acknowledge the leering faces was better than trying to persuade them not to look up my skirt – I would be quite ashamed as a 28 year old to plead with youngsters 10/11years my junior - and I certainly could not hang around to miss only my second job. So I ended the call and walked briskly back across the grill, keeping my legs together as much as I could and holding my skirt close.

It was only two or three steps but it seemed as though I had to do the 100 metres sprint. As I did so wolf whistles and cheers greeted the sight below. I pretended not to hear as my face flushed and I hurried on.

Once on the bus I pretended my red face was as a result of running to catch it but, try as I might, I could not erase the incident from my mind for the rest of the day. I had been made to feel vulnerable by two teens all for seeing nothing more than my legs – less than I would have been happy to show off at the beach. It was more intrusive than that but I was intrigued that the possibility of seeing my knickers had captivated my voyeurers.

Once I got home I took a mirror from my bedroom wall and stood over it trying to find out what they had seen. My skirt was just above the knee and my knickers were black so even with my feet further apart than they had been above the grill I was not able to make out much at the top of my legs. All that fretting for so little I told myself and a part of me was disappointed. It was almost that the embarrassment I had felt so acutely had not been worthwhile.

I told Heather about what had been happening during our phone conversation earlier in the day.

"It's just like when few girlfriends and I had a boat trip,” she told me. “The tide was out and the only way on board was down a ladder. It was a sweltering day so everyone was in dresses or skirts and my friends were getting into a state because of the crew below. It was a lot of fuss; the men were grinning all over their faces so I told the girls it would only take 20 seconds and climbed on to the ladder, shouting ‘enjoy!’ as I started going down. That way I had the control and my confidence disarmed them.”

“So did the others follow you?” I asked.

“Only when I told the guys that they had had their eyeful and now they had to keep looking down – and they did. See, I took command of the situation; no squirming, no being intimidated.

"Bet you couldn't go back there and flash your panties at them."

"No, you're probably right – I couldn't!" I replied, already trying to steel myself.

Week 2

I dressed in the same skirt as I had for the job last week, but this time with white panties underneath. I stood over the mirror again and, yes, they were more visible and the curve of my buttocks quite discernable. As I headed for town I told myself alternately that I was going to go through with it and then that I was just playing with the idea. I certainly hadn't told Heather of my plan/dilemma, in fact last week's incident hadn't been mentioned again.

Intermittently I thought about standing right over the grill with the eyes of the students looking up at me; if I summoned the conviction that I was in control I felt quite sexy about it. So at 2.00 I said goodbye to the other office girls and first headed for the ladies. There I fantasised about showing myself off, rubbed my crotch through my clothes enough to feel aroused.

Then I set off for the bus stop, except I was really heading for the grill. This time I took more notice of the building it was next to; it was a college and the side nearest the stop housed the gym. I marched right up to it as I knew that if I allowed myself to doubt I would be scared away. Just for a moment I hesitated right in front of the metal bars that I knew would alert anyone below. Fleetingly I thought it may not be the same lads inside... it didn't matter, I was different.

My shoes rattled the grill, the window squeaked open and this time three pairs of eyes peered up. I kept my legs as open as I dared, which may not have been far but felt like doing the splits. Looking down I recognised two of the faces from before and I am sure they recognised me. I thought of running off as quickly as I could but willed myself to stay.

Suddenly I thought not about what I looked like to those below but to those on the street; I imagined I would appear rather abnormal. Last week I had been on the phone and that somehow seemed more natural. So I got my mobile out and rang Heather: it didn't occur to me that I could just pretend to talk to someone.

"Hi, Heather. Guess where I am?"

"No, not yet. Remember I told you about having to walk over a grill and you said 'bet you couldn't go back'? Well, that's where I am!"

"I sure am... in white knickers so they can see better."

"I'm not making it up! Listen..." I held the phone over the grill in the hope she would be able to hear the wolf whistles and calls of "get 'em off!"

"Did you get that?... I am here!"

We talked for a few moments until I saw the no 24 working its way through the traffic.

"The bus is coming now, got to go."

With some elation I dropped the phone back in my bag, bent down slightly and called out "Bye, boys!" before striding towards the stop. I felt proud, strong and sexy.

Heather laughed, half from disbelief, half from amusement after we both got home.

"You've got more bottle than I thought!" was her assessment.

She thought that was the end of it but the whole thing was still nagging at me and I often thought about the nerves I had had, the will power it had taken to stay standing over the grill knowing I was deliberately allowing people to look between my legs, the possibility that others would work out what I was doing, the thrill it had given me.

When Heather was out I spent an hour stood over the mirror looking for the best combination of skirt or dress and panties, to see if I could have made a better display, though not intending to carry it out. The best mix was a light summary dress and a white thong with hold up stockings. I tried it with suspenders but they were too obvious under the dress. I began to regret that I had not done this 'research' before and slowly realised that I was going to have to do it again if I was going to get the thing out of my head.

Week 3

I got quite excited dressing for work the following Tuesday. The dress and stockings, let alone a thong were quite different to what I had turned up in before. The dress was slightly too light for the weather and colleagues did comment on my more feminine appearance but formed the impression that I must be meeting someone after work. At 2.00 I headed for the loos again; I pulled my dress around my waist this time and rubbed myself through the thong, thinking of the eyes that would soon be seeing what none of my colleagues had. When I was sufficiently aroused off I headed again.

I almost marched to the grill and without hesitation strode onto it; immediately the window opened. The two young men who had seen me the first time were there but the third was different to last time and I became aware that there were more behind them pressing closer to get a look.

Cries of “she's here,” and “get a look at that!” greeted me.

As before I got my phone out but only pretended to have a conversation this time. If I had rung Heather she would have thought I was taking this too far and there was no one else I could possibly have called. So I ran a commentary on what was happening instead.

"There are three college students below looking up my dress and they are calling to others behind them about what they can see. Things like, 'she's wearing stockings,’ 'you can see her arse', 'I'm telling you it's a fucking g-string!' Oh, there's no need for that language!"

I giggled into the mouth piece after each phrase I recounted; somehow the fact they were getting excited about me was quite amusing. They were round my little finger!

"I'm going to close my legs to tease them," I told my imaginary friend.

"Now they are groaning and asking me to show them my bum again! They are saying 'open your legs,’ 'please let us see more.’ Well, seeing as they asked so nicely..."

I shifted my foot one, two and then three bars to the right, the widest I dared (I would have opened them wider than that, but was concerned what I would have looked like to passers by). My move was greeted by cheers and more whistles!

"They are in the palm of my hand."

It was then that I was aware of a flash of light; at first I thought it was sun reflecting off a car but it happened again. There was no mistaking the flash of a camera that illuminated my dress from inside and would have alerted anyone who happened to glance my way what was going on. Immediately I got off the grill, wall side. The prospect of photos of my arse being passed round the college, or even put on the internet filled my mind. Like the first time, though, I was now trapped and the only way to my bus, nearly due, was back over it.

I had to decide to either just walk back across risking further flashes, in more ways than one, or attempted to negotiate my way out of the situation.

Bending down and attempting to hide my face as much as possible for fear another photo could give my identity away I hissed, "What the hell do you think you are doing? Do you want everyone to know what's going on?"

"It was too good a chance,” someone laughed.

"Well you are ruining everyone else's chances,” I retorted, saying the first thing that came into my head.

"Chances of what?" said the boy with the camera in his hand.

"Are you going to show us your pussy?" a friend asked.

"Put that camera away and I might,” I said rather feebly, seeing my bus and knowing I had to get out of there quickly.

"Ok, it's going away now,” the first boy said, and I saw him slip it into his pocket. "Let's see what you've got!"

"Not now, I've got to go. I'll be back next week."

"As if!"

"I will, and I'll have no knickers on." I said standing ready to run as the bus was at the stop, "but if there any cameras around I'll go and you will see nothing!"

There was some shouting as I made a dash across the opening but I could not make it out. I got to the bus just as the doors were closing but the driver was good enough to open them for me "anything for a pretty girl" he quipped. I might have picked him up on that remark but how could I after what I had just been doing? Besides my head was dizzy with what I had just promised; of course I could just ignore it and never go back near the school again, couldn't I?

That evening I stood over my camera taking pictures up my skirt, with and without panties.

Week 4

From believing I was in command, to pleading and bargaining in, literally, a flash: I was flung back to the same feelings I had the first time I walked over the grill. And the same dilemma of how to win back control. It came down to this: how could I get back my self respect? If I did not keep my promise I would have cheated and been dishonest, but how could showing my pussy to teenagers be a way of regaining pride? And if I did, wouldn’t it show that they were in control, not me.

I couldn't talk about this to Heather, of course, but I did remember what she said about her being the one decided what the boat crew saw and that gave her the upper hand. I decided that is what I had to do. I had said they could not take photographs; maybe I should take pictures to give to them? I took several, making sure I didn't show my face but I remained scared of them being put up on a sleazy web site.

Finally, I hit upon the best thing I could do. They wanted to see my pussy? They could – and I would give them the best view possible. Better than that, I would show them what an aroused and engorged pussy looked like. A couple of years ago some friends had bought a group of us embarrassing gifts from a sex shop they had been dared to go into. They had a vibrator for one girl, of course, crotchless panties for another and ben-wah balls for me. I had tried them once and quite enjoyed the feel of them inside; pulling them out had been very exciting. I tried them again, standing over the mirror and taking more pictures of myself.

It was clear that popping them out standing up was going to be too difficult and, unless I thought of something, very obvious to anyone watching. I decided I would wear as short a skirt as possible and tie a thread to the little chain that attached to the last ball. It would hardly be seen and if measured right could be long enough for me to bend down and pull, pretending to pick something off my leg.

It all took quite a while to work out but on the morning of the final Tuesday I dressed in a mid thigh-length leather skirt (not the shortest I have but one I thought I could get away with) hold-up stockings, boots and a tight woollen top over my bra. I frigged myself thinking about what I was planning to do until I was wet enough to push the ben-wah balls in, the thread already tied onto the chain. Finally, I pulled on a pair of knickers, partly because I knew the balls would keep me aroused and panties would stop any leaks. I looked at myself in the mirror and thought it all looked a sexy ensemble; a little provocative for an office job, but it was my last day, so what the hell!

Off I went with the balls massaging my pussy as I walked.

My appearance drew quite a lot of attention, with everyone assuming I was dressed to wow whoever my boyfriend was, so I strung them along a bit saying he was someone at my next job. Three of the girls took me off an hour early for a drink and I was quite glad of the alcoholic lubrication! We said goodbye at about quarter to two, giving me some extra time to prepare. Again I made for the ladies and in a cubicle I pulled down my knickers. Given all the stimulation I wasn't surprised to find the crotch sticky but I still wanted to get to a higher state of arousal before going ahead with the x-rated show. I sat on the loo and began frigging, imagining the look on the lad's faces. I pulled up my top and unclasped my bra to pinch and pull my nipples too.

I was close to coming but just about had the will power to stop before going over the edge. To keep up the level of excitement I pulled the top right off and removed my bra, putting it with my knickers in my shoulder bag. My voyerers were not going to benefit from the top stretching across my tits but I was enjoying the sensation! Once my clothes and hair were all back in place I strode off to the college for the last time.

The students were clearly expecting me to keep my promise as the three I recognised had already climbed out of the window and wedged themselves into the space below the grill. Others had taken their place inside. The first thing I did was to drop my knickers between the bars, which was greeted by cheers and clapping. I warned them not to make so much noise that might attract attention and they were certainly not to take any pictures. The first time either happened I would leave and never come back. There was mumbled acceptance and I stepped on to the grill to the sound of muted excitement.

Slowly I parted my legs and felt for the thread at the end of the ben-wah balls; it had become slippery and sodden with my juices and as I tugged it just came away from the chain. Momentarily I was nonplussed: this was to be the culmination of my display and now I might not be able to pull it off. I certainly could not reach up my skirt standing to get the chain, that would have been far to obvious. The only thing was to crouch down and see if I could get hold of it.

I put my bag down in front of me and tried to squat behind it. The skirt was too tight to allow me to open my legs like that, so with as much grace as I could muster I half stood and hitched it up as far as I dared. I knew that my thighs above the stockings would be visible from the side but was fairly confident that I would be able to see anyone coming in that direction before it became obvious. I was also aware that those below were getting an unrestricted and close up view of my arse too.

With a knee resting uncomfortably on one bar and a foot planted firmly on another my thighs were as wide as possible. The leather complained and I felt the seam go at the back. Unable to do anything about it I pretended to be looking for something in my bag to disguise what I was doing. Once I was sure I could balance and that I looked as natural as possible I reached between my legs, found the little chain and began pulling.

The ben-wahs were about 5cms across and I could feel my cunt stretch to allow the first though. The lips of my labia clung to the ball and were spread and pulled down by it. Finally it popped out with a spray of my juices on to my thighs and probably those below.

There were sounds of amazement, shock and excitement all at once. I was gasping for air as I had hardly remembered to breathe and felt exhilarated! The end of the chain now dangled just between the bars of the grill and I thought the lad closest to me could just about reach it.

"Pull it slowly like I did,” I instructed him.

He managed to grasp it and tug. The second ball squeezed though my cunt as I endeavoured to look to the world as though I was diligently searching in my bag. The same feelings of being stretched and pulled sent shockwaves through my body, partly though the physical sensations but also the fact that an 18 year old youth was causing them. That and that five of his friends were watching my pussy being opened up. Rather sooner than I had hoped the ball squirted out accompanied by the same filthy spray of juices.

I felt really close to cuming and knew that only a couple of strokes of my clit would bring me to climax. As I wondered if I could possibly finger myself without exposing my entire fanny I felt fingers on the ankle and thigh of my right, kneeling leg. Emboldened by my instructions to the one student the others had shuffled themselves round so that they could touch me.

Another hand reached up and groped my arse. I could feel my buttocks being spread. Other hands crept up my legs and clumsy, inexperienced fingers were pawing at my pussy and bum; they prodded and pushed into my cunt. I desperately wanted them to frig me and pleaded with them to rub my clit, but either they didn't know where it was or couldn't quite reach. Being so close to orgasm yet not being able to cum was making me dizzy. I was frightened I would do something really silly, like strip off all my clothes – which I felt like doing!

Then, of course, the bus I needed to catch came up the road. My mind urged me to get to the stop. Mentally I went through standing up, gathering my things and walking off but my legs stayed rooted, unable to break the hold that eyes and hands had on me. Even as in my head I was running for the bus my legs were splaying further apart, with both knees on the grill trying to get more in reach of the fingers. The seam at the back of the skirt rent further and I knew this was going to get me in desperate trouble, but it was more urgent to cum.

The fingers did press against my clit now but they were more interested in parting the lips and poking inside my cunt. They spread the juice from it over my thighs and arse. Hardly able to speak I listened to what my gropers were saying.

"Get your finger as far up as you can... look at her arse... you can smell her cunt... spread the lips on her... does it feel sticky?"

Suddenly there was a change in the atmosphere, the fingers and eyes left me and a voice called "We've got to go or we'll get caught". The sound of scrambling came from below and finally the window banging shut – but not before another voice hissed, "Thank you, Miss."

With the bus disappearing, my skirt torn and no way of relieving my intense frustration there was no doubt I was the author of my own misfortune. How was I going to regain any composure, let alone control!

(To be continued)

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