Tommy's Retribution

[Blondie]

Please ignore. Originally this was Chapter 20. In an effort to arrange the chapters in order after a glitch on the site, I attempted to delete this entirely, but that option was not available.

[Blondie]

Please ignore. Originally this was Chapter 21. In an effort to arrange the chapters in order after a glitch on the site, I attempted to delete this entirely, but that option was not available.

[Ribg]

Just finished binge reading Debasement and Retribution over the past 3 days and this was just fantastic. I like enm and enf but definitely prefer enf more but the setup with the enm just made Retribution so much better. I'd say Sally's punishment in the class, Karens in the football game and Carlene's in the airport where the best overall all really struck a good length, interesting ideas from Tommy and just overall really fantastic, the ending party was also really good but I mean more from a one-off standpoint. Just about the only thing I dislike about the story is that it I read it all and have no more to read lol

Do you have a page with your other stories? I've started reading the other stories you posted on the enf and enm boards but was wondering if I'm missing any that are only on old/other sites?

[Blondie]

Just finished binge reading Debasement and Retribution over the past 3 days and this was just fantastic. I like enm and enf but definitely prefer enf more but the setup with the enm just made Retribution so much better. I'd say Sally's punishment in the class, Karens in the football game and Carlene's in the airport where the best overall all really struck a good length, interesting ideas from Tommy and just overall really fantastic, the ending party was also really good but I mean more from a one-off standpoint. Just about the only thing I dislike about the story is that it I read it all and have no more to read lol

Do you have a page with your other stories? I've started reading the other stories you posted on the enf and enm boards but was wondering if I'm missing any that are only on old/other sites?

I'm glad you enjoyed the stories, Ribg, and especially the three chapters of Retribution that you singled out. Those might be the three that I enjoyed writing the most, with a slight edge to Carlene unwittingly getting her friend off as she related her airport misadventures.

Unfortunately, I don't have a page anywhere of my stories; they were wiped out when BooksieSilk shut down. I am gradually getting them up here, though. I have a about five or six more after I finish posting "Roosevelt Humiliations."

Thank you for the nice comments; I really appreciate it.

[Blondie]

Please ignore. Originally this was Chapter 12. In an effort to arrange the chapters in order after a glitch on the site, I attempted to delete this entirely, but that option was not available.

[Blondie]

Please ignore. Originally this was Chapter 13. In an effort to arrange the chapters in order after a glitch on the site, I attempted to delete this entirely, but that option was not available.

[Blondie]

Chapter 14: Eight Blushing Hostesses

As Tommy drove toward the recreation center on a calm Friday evening, his thoughts drifted back to the day of his complete and public humiliation, the day that had started it all. The images were burned into his memory: Sister Ruth stripping him naked and ordering him to toss his clothes out the second-story window, then making him stand on her desk, bare and blushing, and sing for the class.

Then there were his classmates. His sister Sally and her best friend Cindy had reveled in his embarrassment. Danny wouldn’t stop mocking his smooth, hairless body, pointing and jeering while Tommy's cheeks burned with shame. Linda and Nancy had subjected him to one degrading routine after another during recess and lunch. Michael thought it was hilarious when Tommy was forced into the girl's uniform.

And Karen... she’d seemed to enjoy it more than anyone. She’d dragged out the agonizing countdown before yanking down his underpants in the crowded gym, her eyes gleaming with cruel delight.

Carlene had pulled down his underpants and spanked him in the hallway, then orchestrated a line where her fellow volleyball players took turns peeking down his underpants, each one giggling at his expense.

And then there was Miss Richards, the woman who had capped off his nightmare by forcing him to dance entirely naked in front of his assembled peers.

Yes, Tommy remembered it all. Every mortifying moment. Every snicker. Every pointed finger.

It was his girlfriend Molly who brought him out of his daydream. "What're you thinking about, babe?" she asked from the passenger seat, her hand resting lightly on his thigh. "You've got that faraway look in your eyes."

Tommy smiled. “Just about how much fun we’re going to have tonight.”

Molly, having been filled in on every detail of his past torment, had been sympathetic from the start and eagerly supportive. When Tommy first laid out his elaborate plan for payback, she hadn't hesitated. She'd jumped at the chance to help. In truth, she looked forward to the events with wicked, giddy excitement that matched his own.

"You're sure they're all coming?" Molly asked, checking her lipstick in the vanity mirror and smoothing her hair. "Every single one of them?"

"Oh, they'll be here," Tommy replied confidently. "I made it very clear that attendance wasn't optional."

Tommy had instructed all his former tormentors to arrive early. Sure enough, as he and Molly pulled into the rec center parking lot, nearly the entire group was already gathered near the entrance. They looked utterly miserable, shifting nervously from foot to foot, avoiding eye contact, and casting apprehensive glances at one another. Scanning the group, Tommy felt a small flicker of irritation when he realized that Cindy had not arrived.

Molly leaned in and kissed his cheek. “I think we’re going to have a night to remember, hon.”

Tommy grinned. "Oh, I'm counting on it. I've been counting on it for a very long time."

They stepped out of the car and strolled toward the nervous group.

"Good evening, everyone," Tommy greeted them. "I'm so glad you could all make it." He gestured toward his companion. "I'd like you all to meet my girlfriend, Molly. Molly, these are the special guests I've told you so much about."

He gestured down the line of pale, anxious faces. "You already know my sister Sally, and this is Karen, Linda, Nancy, Danny, Michael, Carlene, Miss Richards, and Sister Ruth. Molly will be assisting tonight any way she sees fit.”

The group murmured half-hearted hellos. None of them knew exactly what kind of "assistance" Molly would be providing, but their sense of dread was palpable.

"So lovely to finally meet you all," Molly said, smiling cheerfully.

Tommy and Molly strode confidently into the recreation hall, while the others followed meekly behind, their apprehension plainly evident.

The space was large and impressive, with fifteen round banquet tables set for six, a well-stocked bar off to the side, and a lavish buffet spread laid out on a long table draped in white linen. The tables were arranged in front of a large performance stage, its curtain currently drawn. Off to one side, behind the curtain, was a spacious dressing room where Tommy's plans would begin to unfold.

“Okay, girls,” Tommy announced, turning to face them. “If you'll follow Molly back to the dressing room, she has some lovely host costumes for you to put on while you serve our guests drinks and appetizers tonight. Whatever Molly asks you to do, just treat it as though it's coming directly from me.”

He turned his attention to the two young men. “Danny, Michael, you're on bar duty, so you'd better start setting up. The guests will start arriving in about half an hour. Hop to it.”

Just then, the last straggler arrived.

“Oh, look who finally decided to show up,” Tommy said, folding his arms. “You're late, Cindy. You're off to a bad start.”

“I’m s-sorry, Tommy,” Cindy replied, looking worried. “I ran into traffic. The highway was completely backed up. I came as fast as I could.”

“Well, I'm sure Molly will deal with you accordingly,” Tommy said, motioning toward his girlfriend. “Now fall into place with the other girls.”

Tommy watched with satisfaction as the women fell into line behind Molly and disappeared behind the curtain. His grand plan was unfolding perfectly.

He turned and strolled back to the bar. “Danny boy,” he said, “I assume you took care of that little personal matter we discussed on the phone?” He was, of course, referring to his strict order for Danny to shave every inch of his body completely hairless, to experience the same vulnerability he himself had known.

Danny, to Tommy’s delight, blushed profusely. “Yes,” Danny answered simply, looking down shamefully at his own shoes.

Tommy smirked, soaking in Danny's embarrassment. "Good boy. Maybe it'll be our little secret." He leaned closer. “Then again, maybe we can share our secret with the guests. I'm sure they'd find it fascinating.” Tommy chuckled to himself. Danny looked up with wide, apprehensive eyes, silently hoping Tommy was only messing with him.

Meanwhile, behind the crimson curtain, Molly ushered the eight women into the brightly lit dressing room. The walls were lined with long mirrors, and the women nervously glanced at one another in their reflections.

Molly got everyone's attention with a sharp clap of her hands. “Okay, girls, let's get down to business. As you’re all well aware, your official duty tonight is to host and serve our guests. I don’t know how much waitressing experience you have, but I expect you all to do a bang-up job."

She paused, looking them over. "One thing is for sure. None of you are properly dressed for the occasion. Tonight is Tommy's night, and he wants his hostesses to look... unforgettable." A mischievous smile crossed her face. “It's your lucky night, because we have something special picked out for each of you. So, if you'll kindly take off all your clothes, I'll get your outfits ready.”

Nobody made a move. They stood frozen, exchanging glances of disbelief and fear.

Molly broke the spell with three thunderous claps of her hands. “I said STRIP, and I mean right now! We have ninety guests coming! Off with those clothes!”

Reluctantly, the eight females began pulling off t-shirts and unbuttoning blouses, shame-faced and trembling. Molly leaned against the vanity, enjoying every second of her newfound authority.

“Faster, faster!” she commanded.

Moving down the line, Molly snatched garments straight out of their hands as quickly as they came off, tossing them into a pile in the corner. Within moments, eight women stood timidly in their underwear, hugging their arms across their chests and casting panicked glances at one another.

“What’s the holdup?” Molly snapped. “Bras and panties off, girls! I want to see every single one of you naked! Completely nude! Chop, chop! Let’s go!”

Hesitantly, they obeyed as Molly watched them closely. Some were visibly close to tears. One by one, bras and panties dropped to the floor, until they stood stark naked before her, blushing and scrambling to cover their chests and laps with their hands. Molly strolled past them slowly, savoring the spectacle. She smiled at them for a few moments, allowing the embarrassment level to build, letting them feel every second of their exposure.

She then reached into a drawer and started pulling out the costumes.

“Alright, girls, time to get you properly dressed,” Molly purred, pulling out armfuls of skintight satin and sheer outfits. “You certainly don’t want to serve our guests looking like that, do you?" She laughed. "Then again, maybe we’ll just save that for the late-night entertainment.”

Sister Ruth and several of the others exchanged uneasy looks.

When all eight were finally forced into their assigned attire, they made quite a spectacle. Skin was on full display. Some were squeezed into two-piece ensembles consisting of strapless micro-tops and tiny hot pants that left the lower curve of their cheeks entirely exposed, while others were poured into skin-tight, strapless one-piece teddies that barely reached their hips or covered their cleavage. Each outfit was paired with four-inch stiletto heels, color-matched to their scanty outfits.

Groans rippled through the room as the reality settled in. They were going to spend the evening parading through a crowded hall, exposed, ogled by ninety inebriated guests, and unable to hide.

Molly was about to send them out when a stroke of dark inspiration struck her. She recalled Tommy mentioning how small and delicate Cindy’s breasts were, and how pathologically self-conscious she had always been about them. Indeed, Molly noticed that while the girls were naked, while the other women had their hands pressed between their thighs, Cindy had both palms pressed over her chest.

Cindy’s outfit was a bright red two-piece. Molly noticed that in her rush, Cindy had slipped her top on first before pulling up her hot pants.

She was about to suffer embarrassing consequences for arriving late.

“Oh, Cindy,” Molly said. “We need to talk about your top.”

Cindy froze.

“I couldn’t help but notice... your breasts are quite tiny.” She paused, then smiled when Cindy blushed deeply. “You really don’t fill out this top very well. You’re practically swimming in it, sweetie. I think you’ll look much better without it.”

Before Cindy could utter a word, Molly reached out, unhooked the back clasp, and whisked the top away. Cindy gasped, her hands instantly flying up to cover her bare, exposed chest.

“My, my,” Molly teased, taking a step back to admire the blushing girl. “You really are quite bashful about your little titties, aren’t you?” Cindy didn’t answer. She stared fixedly at the floor, her face glowing as she clamped her hands over her chest like a vise. “I can’t say I blame you, though," Molly continued. "If I had little golf balls on my chest like yours, I wouldn’t want anyone to see them either.”

Turning back to the drawer, Molly retrieved two bright red satin pasties, each fitted with a three-inch golden tassel dangling from the center.

“You’ll have to move your hands, sweetie, while I attach these to your little nipples.”

When Cindy slowly, tearfully lowered her hands to her stomach, Molly was at the ready with a jar of liquid body adhesive. Dipping a small brush into the bottle, she methodically painted the cool, tacky glue across Cindy’s left nipple, speaking to her in a soothing voice.

“You’ll be a big hit tonight, sweetheart,” teased the grinning Molly, finishing the first nipple and moving to the right. “Everyone will just love staring at these cute little things. And these tassels will be swinging delightfully while you hand out champagne glasses. You'll knock 'em dead."

Cindy was in the absolute depths of misery. The intrusion on what she considered a very private part of her body was excruciating. When Molly leaned in and blew softly across her nipples, Cindy jerked back.

“Relax, darling, I’m not hitting on you,” Molly laughed. “Just setting the glue.”

Positioning the red pasties, Molly pressed them firmly onto Cindy’s chest, holding them in place until she was satisfied the adhesive had taken hold. She stepped back, clasping her hands together.

"Oh, you look stunning, sweetie. Simply stunning."

Cindy instinctively reached up to shield herself again, but Molly caught her wrists. “Uh, uh, uh!” Molly warned. “No more modesty. You'll have ninety guests out there waiting to be entertained, and they'll want to admire your tiny chest."

Molly started to turn toward the door, then stopped dead, a wicked smile crossing her face.

“Oh! How silly of me. I almost forgot the best part.”

Reaching out, Molly took the tip of each pasty between her thumb and forefinger and gave them a sharp clockwise twist. Instantly, a bright, flashing red LED light began blinking rhythmically from each pasty.

Blink. Blink. Blink.

Cindy gasped in utter horror, staring down wide-eyed at her own glowing body. Molly folded her arms, grinning derisively as Cindy turned a shade of deep purple that easily matched her flashing lights.

“Now no one will miss you, even if the lights go down," Molly purred. “Your little light-up titties are going to steal the show.”

Quite satisfied, Molly turned to the rest of the women, who were standing mesmerized by the bizarre spectacle they had just witnessed.

“Okay, girls! Time to earn your keep! Line up and move out! Snap to it! We've got a party to host!"

The eight scantily-clad hostesses filed out of the dressing room, their four-inch heels clicking against the hardwood floor, their faces burning with shame.

As they marched down the side stairs of the main stage, Tommy, Danny, and Michael all stopped dead in their tracks, their jaws collectively dropping at the sheer, overwhelming sight of the eight exposed women stepping into the hall.

For Danny and Michael, the thrill of the delectable sight was tempered by the uncertainty of what Tommy may have in store for them.

For Tommy, the evening was unfolding exactly as he'd imagined, and he had no doubt the best was yet to come.

[Blondie]

Chapter 15: Let the Party Begin!

Michael stood behind the bar, temporarily lost in the spectacle of eight women in various stages of revealing attire marching down the stage steps. For a brief moment, he allowed himself a sliver of hope that his only obligation would be to tend bar, to remain safely behind the mahogany and let everyone else suffer Tommy’s little revenge tour.

Then he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. Molly was peeking around the corner.

“Michael, could you come up here, please?” she called out.

Michael felt a sudden knot of dread in his stomach. Being summoned by Tommy’s girlfriend could not possibly bode well for him. His interest in the parade of women evaporated instantly, replaced by the chilling realization that he was next on the menu. He shot a desperate glance toward Tommy, seeking some clue in his demeanor. But Tommy was entirely occupied leering at the girls reluctantly walking toward him.

When he stepped into the dressing room, his fears were immediately confirmed. Hanging prominently at eye level was a frilly French maid’s costume, complete with a lacy apron, a short, flouncy skirt, and a ridiculous little ruffled cap. A handwritten note pinned to the bodice read: Michael’s Barmaid Uniform.

Molly watched intently as Michael looked on in stunned surprise. “Well?” she teased. “Isn’t it precious? I just know you’re going to be the toast of the bar tonight.” Her grin widened. “Now let’s get you out of those boring boy clothes and try your new dress on. Chop chop, we haven't got all evening."

Michael hesitated, still dazed by the woeful turn of events. He stood frozen in place, hoping she’d at least grant him some privacy.

No such luck. Molly remained firmly planted, hands on hips, clearly enjoying every second. “Problem, Michael?”

Cheeks burning, he unbuttoned his shirt and kicked off his jeans, his face growing hotter with every layer shed. Standing in just his boxer shorts, he cast one last pleading look at her.

Molly answered with a downward flick of her index finger. "Everything," she said simply. "Tommy was very specific. The full transformation."

With a sigh of defeat, Michael stepped out of his shorts, his hands hastily covering his privates while his face glowed like a red Christmas-tree bulb.

“Oh, look at that, we have a shy one!” Molly giggled. “How adorable. Well then, let's hurry and get you properly dressed, shall we?"

She reached into a bag and pulled out a pair of black silk panties, the back trimmed with white lace ruffles. Holding them open for Michael to examine, she waited expectantly. Michael took them reluctantly and slipped them on, his shame increasing by the second.

It didn’t stop there. Next came a lace garter belt that Molly fastened herself, followed by sheer black stockings that she personally rolled up his hairy legs.

“Hold still,” she instructed as she produced a padded, double-D cup bra. She strapped him in and gleefully stuffed the cups with false breasts.

Three-inch black patent heels forced him to wobble, and the puffy-sleeved maid’s dress didn’t quite cover the tops of his stockings. Molly smiled devilishly as she pinned the cap to his head.

"Almost perfect," she said, stepping back to assess her handiwork. "But something's missing... ahh, here we go."

She whipped out a tube of cherry-red lipstick and applied a heavy coat to his mouth. Against his goatee, the bright red lips took on a look of almost comic absurdity.

She spun him around toward the full-length mirror. Michael flinched. The guy in the reflection, with smeared red lips, artificial cleavage, hairy legs in sheer stockings, and a ridiculously short skirt, was more than he could bear.

“Don’t you make just the cutest little barmaid?” Molly cooed, resting her chin on his padded shoulder as they looked at the reflection.

Michael turned away, humiliated beyond words.

Before he could retreat into self-pity, Molly intentionally dropped a handkerchief to the floor.

“Oh dear,” she said. “How clumsy of me. Would you be a doll and pick that up for me, dear?”

Michael glared at her, but under her expectant gaze, he reluctantly leaned forward to scoop it up. The moment he bent at the waist, the short skirt rode up, revealing the ruffled trim of his black panties.

Molly positioned herself behind him and broke into a delighted squeal.

“Oh, the guests are going to be delighted when they see your pretty panties."

Michael's blush deepened into full-blown crimson, spreading down his neck.

“Come along, sweetie,” she said, practically bouncing with glee. “Let’s go show you off. The guests are going to simply adore you."

As they exited the dressing room, Molly was grinning from ear to ear. Michael decidedly was not.

As he made the shameful trek down the stage steps, he felt every eye lock onto his awkward, swishing gait. Tommy had a big grin on his face, and when he caught Molly’s eye, he gave her an appreciative wink.

Danny was still uncertain about his own situation, but a high-pitched giggle escaped his nose anyway. Even a few of the women lined up near the stage couldn't help tittering into their hands, despite their own humiliating plight.

Michael slunk behind the bar beside Danny, cheeks still glowing, and tried to hide behind the beer taps.

From his vantage point, Tommy took it all in, basking in the delicious irony of the scene. Every one of his former tormentors was now on display, embarrassed, exposed, and entirely at his mercy. He looked at their flushed faces, and it was plain to see that they’d give anything to be somewhere else. Tommy thought back to his own degradation at their hands and remembered that same dreadful feeling.

“Payback is brutal, isn’t it, honey?” he said to Molly.

Molly slid up beside him, wrapping an arm around his waist and resting her head comfortably against his shoulder. “Only if you’re on the receiving end, babe. From here, it looks absolutely magnificent.”

Tommy chuckled softly, resting his hand over hers as they surveyed the room together.

The body language of the scantily clad women said it all: downcast eyes, tightly crossed arms, and anxious, restless shifting. They were clearly miserable.

At the bar, Michael was far past the point of simple embarrassment, mortified by the sheer absurdity of his satin skirt and lipstick. Danny was on edge, wondering with every passing second if his own turn was coming.

* * * * *

The hall gradually came alive as the ninety invited guests started filing in. Tommy fully expected most, if not all, to attend. Most of the crowd were well-acquainted with Tommy’s target list and aware of their history with him. What they didn't know was that his former tormentors would be providing tonight’s entertainment.

Tommy stationed himself at the double doors, greeting each arrival with a gracious host's smile, while his sister Sally was assigned coat check duty. Sporting a tuxedo-inspired strapless teddy, fishnet stockings, and sky-high heels, Sally blushed under the weight of so many stares, not to mention the dozens of phones already clicking away. Even her brother couldn’t resist an appreciative once-over. His eyes traveled from her four-inch patent heels up her shapely legs, past her half-exposed backside, to her voluptuous, partially covered breasts, before finally taking in her blushing face. Sally looked like a high-end casino showgirl, albeit a very embarrassed one.

A few feet away stood Karen, dazzling and miserable in a glittering baby-blue two-piece and white stilettos. She was under strict orders to deliver a mandatory greeting to every single guest.

“Welcome to Tommy’s Retribution,” she recited through gritted teeth, her face burning. “I’m here to serve you in any way I can.” Guests smirked, nodded approvingly, and captured the moment with their phones before heading to their seats.

The first round of servers, Sister Ruth, Miss Richards, and Carlene, were already hard at work. Sister Ruth’s white, strapless teddy hugged her tightly, cinched at the waist with a shiny black belt. To complete the look, Molly had cleverly pinned a short white veil to her hair, mimicking her religious habit in a particularly sacrilegious fashion.

Beside her, the leggy Betty Richards navigated the floor in a hot-pink ensemble featuring a pointed, conical bra straight out of Madonna’s 1990 world tour. Then there was Carlene, barefoot and squeezed back into the skimpy volleyball uniform from her humiliating airport episode, reliving the mortification all over again.

All three women burned red as they hurried drink orders back and forth to delighted guests. Every time they leaned over a table to set down a cocktail, their snug uniforms crept higher, exposing more than they would have liked and giving the revelers an unabashedly provocative view.

Tommy watched from the head table, sipping his drink and savoring every second of their discomfort. When Sister Ruth cautiously set down his fresh cocktail, he offered a warm, “Thank you, Sister,” and gave her left buttock a sharp, playful pat as she turned to leave. She visibly flinched, her cheeks flaming as she hurried away without a word.

“Yoo-hoo! Miss Richards!” Tommy called a few minutes later, pointing to a small puddle on the edge of his table. “Cleanup on aisle one. We have a little spill over here."

Miss Richards closed her eyes, took a breath, and marched over with a cloth. The awkward angle required to wipe the low table forced her into a deep bend, putting her backside on display for the neighboring tables.

“Hey, Tommy, you mind spilling another drink?” a guest two tables over hollered, prompting a wave of drunken cheers. Miss Richards scrubbed faster, her ears glowing red.

The servers were now in full swing, scurrying between fifteen tables with barely a moment to catch their breath. With eight women covering the room, there was always someone nearby to deliver another cocktail, clear a plate, or tend to a demanding guest. Everywhere the revelers looked, another scantily clad lass was hurrying about, dutifully catering to their needs while doing her best to hide her embarrassment.

Meanwhile, Cindy circulated with a heavy tray of hors d'oeuvres. Her glowing, flashing LED pasties drew considerable attention.

“Look at that! a partygoer laughed. Traffic lights!”

Guests chuckled and made comments about her tiny chest, while a few even pulled her in for selfies, slinging their arms over her shoulders as she stood rigid with mortification. Cindy tried using her tray as a makeshift shield, but it was useless. Her glowing pink nipples seemed to broadcast her embarrassment to the entire room.

Karen had been given simple instructions: circulate, smile, and make sure the guests were content. Unfortunately for her, she wandered into the orbit of Table Nine, a table occupied by six rowdy men deep into their cocktails, who had taken a keen interest in her baby blue ensemble.

“Hey, baby blue!” one of them called out. “We need another round here!”

As Karen leaned in to take the order, a second guest quietly slipped from his chair and snuck up behind her. Karen never saw him coming.

With a sly grin, the guest untied Karen's strapless spandex top. Karen had tied it extra tight earlier in a desperate attempt to prevent a slip. It was at least one size too small, and stretched taut across her chest. When the knot gave way, the top didn’t just slip off—it launched, like a slingshot, sailing through the air before landing with a wet plop squarely inside the table's glass water pitcher.

For a split second, time froze. Karen gasped, her jaw dropping. For one agonizing, suspended second, she stood entirely bare-chested in the bright party lights, exposed to six howling men and half the surrounding tables.

"Holy shit!" someone shouted.

Cameras flashed, capturing the moment. Screaming in terror, Karen hunched over and lunged across the table, plunging her hand into the ice water. She yanked out her soaked top, which emerged draped over a floating lemon slice, and slapped it against her chest. She shivered as cold water streamed down her stomach, while the table erupted in drunken cheers and wolf whistles.

Karen scurried away, clutching her dripping top to her chest, her face practically purple with shame. Behind her, the men congratulated themselves with high fives all around, already replaying the video on someone's phone.

* * * * *

The evening raged on. The waitresses continued making the rounds, delivering cocktails and, eventually, the catered dinner. As the alcohol flowed, the crowd grew louder, the laughter sharper, and the atmosphere shifted from festive to downright raucous.

Once the last dessert plates were cleared, Tommy decided it was time to take the party to the next level. He caught Molly’s eye and gave a simple, decisive nod. Molly rose gracefully and stepped away, disappearing behind the stage curtain.

Tommy stood up, picked up his butter knife, and tapped his water glass. The room settled down, eyes turning toward the host.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Tommy began, his voice casual but commanding. “Thank you all for coming tonight. I hope you’ve enjoyed the food, the open bar, and, of course, the exceptional service.”

A wave of loud applause and whistling swept the room. Tommy gestured toward the eight embarrassed females standing near the kitchen entrance.

“But don’t think for a second that the night is over,” Tommy continued, his grin widening. "In fact, the real entertainment will soon begin.”

The waitresses stiffened.

"You see," Tommy announced, "we have a bit of surprise entertainment planned. And our lovely servers, though they don't know it yet, are about to take center stage.”

The room exploded into roaring cheers and banging tables. The women exchanged panicked, wide-eyed glances and became suddenly even more conscious of their skimpy attire.

A performance? In these clothes?

“Girls,” Tommy said, extending a hand toward the stage steps. “If you’ll follow Molly to the dressing room, she’ll get you fitted for your next round of outfits.”

The eight women gasped in unison, while the guests leaned forward in their seats, sensing something wickedly delicious in the air.

Molly stepped out from behind the velvet curtain, smiling impishly.

“Right this way, ladies,” Molly called out cheerfully.

Slowly and reluctantly, the eight women fell into a single-file line behind her. With hunched shoulders, burning cheeks, and churning stomachs, they marched up the stage steps.

Tommy reclined in his seat, a slow smile spreading across his face.

The stage was set.

Now came the real fun.

[Blondie]

Chapter 16: The Can-Can

As the eight shamefaced women followed Molly off to the dressing room, Tommy turned back to the guests with a bright smile.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he called out, “I’d like to direct your attention to behind the bar. Allow me to introduce Danny, your bartender for the evening, and Michael, your lovely barmaid.”

A chorus of chuckles and catcalls rose from the crowd.

“Michael here,” Tommy continued, “got quite a kick out of teasing me a few years back when Sister Ruth made me wear the girls’ uniform. Now, that was a while ago, but as many of you know... I have a very long memory.” He let that sink in for a moment. "So tonight, I thought it would be poetic justice to return the favor. While the ladies are preparing for their performance, Michael here will be attending to all your beverage needs. Feel free to call him Michelle. Thanks again for coming, and enjoy the show!”

The crowd applauded with delight, turning their attention toward the bar. Danny was busy mixing drinks, ever so thankful that Tommy had chosen to leave him in peace.

Michael, on the other hand, was mortified. As degrading as it had been to be forced into a micro-mini maid outfit, he had at least been able to remain relatively anonymous behind the bar while the attention was focused on the eight women. Now he was the center of attention, serving thirsty guests in his ridiculous female garb, and he knew with dreadful certainty that it was going to be a thoroughly miserable experience.

The guests, eager to support Tommy’s little revenge, proved utterly merciless. They called out “Michelle!” in singsong voices, telling him how adorable he looked in his dress, how the color suited him, and how they simply had to get a picture.

The female guests proved especially brutal, their laughter sharper and their comments more biting.

Disaster struck when he leaned over a table of six rowdy, wine-tipsy women to drop off a tray of vodka tonics. Without warning, one of them reached out and flipped the back of his tiny skirt high into the air, revealing his lacy, ruffled panties to the entire left side of the room.

The table erupted in shrieks of laughter. Michael, his face burning red, quickly pushed her hand away and tried to move on.

Just as he thought he might escape, one of them called out, “Michelle, wait! Can you do a little curtsy for us?”

Michael ignored her completely and scurried back toward the bar, pretending not to hear. But through the reflection in the mirror, he watched in horror as the woman marched straight up to Tommy’s head table. A second later, Tommy crooked his finger in Michael's direction.

Michael felt the heat rising in his face as he reluctantly minced across the floor in his precarious high heels to face his tormentor.

“Michelle," Tommy said, his tone sharp with accusation. “I just received a very serious complaint. I’m told you refused to curtsy for one of our distinguished guests.”

Michael swallowed hard. “I... I didn’t hear her. I was busy with the drinks.”

“Is that so? Well, can you hear me now?” Tommy asked.

Michael nodded sullenly, his eyes fixed on the floor.

"Good," Tommy continued. “Because I want you to go up on the stage and show us all your best curtsy.”

Giggles swept through the room as Michael, cheeks flushing, climbed the stage steps. He stood in front of the curtain and waited disconsolately for further instructions, his shoulders slumped in defeat. All eyes were on him as Tommy spoke once more.

“Attention, everyone! Michelle would now like to demonstrate her very best curtsy,” Tommy announced to raucous laughter. "Let's give her our full attention, shall we? She's been looking forward to this all evening."

Blushing crimson, Michael lifted the sides of his skirt, gave a stiff little bend at the knees, and executed the clumsiest, most reluctant curtsy imaginable. The second he straightened, he spun on his heel and made a break for it.

“Hold on a second, Michelle!” Tommy’s voice boomed, stopping him dead in his tracks. "I know you're just dying to show everyone what’s underneath that little skirt, aren't you?" asked Tommy, not really expecting an answer. “Why don’t you turn around, bend over at the waist, and lift your skirt up your back for us, nice and high.”

“That’s right, show us the goods!” a woman from Table Four screamed.

"Lift it higher!" another voice joined in.

The chant began to spread. "Higher! Higher! Higher!"

Michael groaned inwardly, his shoulders slumping in total surrender. Facing the curtain, he reached back, grabbed his skirt, and hiked it up past his waist, holding it high. The frilly lace of his panties drew howls of laughter and delighted whistles from the audience, with several guests rising to their feet for a better look.

“Now give us one more curtsy to say thank you,” Tommy commanded.

Redder than ever, Michael turned, dropped into one final, humiliated dip, and practically sprinted off the stage. The crowd rewarded him with a standing ovation.

The crimson-faced “barmaid” dutifully returned to the bar and resumed taking cocktail orders from the happy patrons, his hands shaking as he scribbled on his notepad.

* * * * *

Meanwhile, in the backstage dressing room, Molly was in her absolute element.

“So!” she said, clapping her hands together. “Have any of you had any experience dancing the can-can?

The eight women, still red-faced and shivering from their stint on the floor, glared at her and shook their heads, their expressions filled with apprehension.

“Well, good news,” said Molly, opening the closet door. “After tonight, you can add it to your résumés!”

Inside hung eight flamboyant can-can costumes in dazzling shades of red, purple, and gold that seemed almost to glow. Molly continued, “As you can see, you won’t need those cocktail outfits anymore, so if you’ll kindly take them off...”

Sighing with resignation, their spirits thoroughly broken, the women once again stripped naked at Molly’s behest.

As they stood shivering in the cool draft of the dressing room, Molly reached into the wardrobe and pulled out the first dress. The girls collectively reached toward it, all hoping against hope to snatch it from her and use it to cover their nudity.

Instead, Molly casually stepped into the costume herself, pulling it up over her own clothes and zipping it shut.

"Now, have a seat," she instructed, gesturing to the floor. "Time for a demonstration. Pay close attention."

Naked and mortified, the women, who would have given anything for some sort of covering, submissively sat naked on the floor in a semicircle. They flinched as their bare skin touched the cold hardwood, crossing their arms over their chests and tucking their legs tightly together in a futile attempt to preserve what little modesty they had left.

Molly surveyed her bare, shivering audience and smiled to herself, clearly pleased with the sight before her. "Great! Okay, girls, watch very closely, because I'm only going through this once.”

She tapped her phone, and lively music burst from a portable speaker, filling the room with a high-tempo beat.

Molly began her demonstration. “Hands on hips, like this,” she said, demonstrating her stance. “A nice high leg kick is a must!"

She hiked her skirt to her waist and kicked enthusiastically, her leg shooting almost straight toward the ceiling.

“Now pay extra attention, girls. The best part’s coming up. This is where you really sell it to your audience.”

The music Molly had chosen was Jacques Offenbach’s Orpheus in the Underworld, a piece that practically seemed to invite bawdiness.

As the music reached its signature crescendo, Molly spun on her heel, bent forward at the waist, flipped her multilayered skirt over her back, and vigorously shook her hips from side to side in time with the driving beat.

The naked women on the floor cringed in collective horror, each of them picturing herself being forced to perform that exact salacious routine in front of ninety drunk, cheering patrons.

Once the lesson ended, Molly smoothed her skirt with a satisfied smile and began pulling the remaining dresses from the wardrobe.

“Right then! Time to get dressed.”

Each woman received a black can-can dress with thin straps and layers of magenta-and-black ruffled petticoats, sheer thigh-high stockings, shiny black heels, ruffled lace panties, and a towering feathered headpiece.

Molly stood back, admiring her fleet of glowing, deeply humiliated can-can dancers as they secured their feathers, preparing to send them out to face the music.

“Okay, girls, we’ll have one quick run-through before we go out there,” Molly chirped, lining them up and tapping her phone to restart the track. “Let’s make it good and quick. The natives are getting restless, and we don’t want to keep them waiting.”

Despite themselves, their bodies moving almost on autopilot, the eight women picked up the basic steps. Their kicks were uneven, some higher than others, but it was certainly good enough to satisfy the undiscerning crowd. In any case, nobody in that hall was going to be judging them on their technical choreography.

Molly led the dispirited group out to the stage and lined them up just inches behind the heavy velvet curtain.

"Remember," she said, "high leg kicks. Lift those dresses and shake those tushies like you mean it. Give them a show they'll never forget."

Not a single woman responded. They stood as a silent, defeated bunch, utterly abashed by their predicament.

Out in the hall, Tommy caught the signal as Molly poked her head around the curtain and gave him a sharp nod. He raised a hand toward his buddy in the lighting booth. The chandelier lights dimmed, a drumroll sounded somewhere in the darkness, and a blinding white spotlight shone directly onto the center of the curtain.

Molly gave the heavy golden rope a firm tug, and the curtain whooshed open.

The hall erupted in approval as eight women dressed in dazzling can-can costumes stepped into the spotlight. Orpheus in the Underworld blasted through the speakers. On cue, the eight women began to dance.

Their leg kicks, though not quite synchronized, immediately sent the crowd into a frenzy. But the real explosion came when the music reached its signature turn. All eight dancers spun around in unison, hiked their petticoats, and vigorously shook their lace-covered hips from side to side. The audience was floored. Gasps of delighted shock quickly turned into deafening roars.

This is what the hall sounded like as the shamefaced dancers lifted their dresses and kicked their legs: The Can-Can

Whooping, whistling, and the rhythmic clapping of ninety pairs of hands filled the hall. The eight red-faced dancers turned back around, their cheeks burning hotter than the stage lights. Their hearts weren't in it, not even close, but they kicked up their heels with desperate energy, knowing full well that anything less than their best efforts would lead to even greater degradation at Tommy's hands.

The routine reached its finale, and they curtsied in unison, just as Molly had trained them. The crowd rewarded them with a raucous standing ovation that seemed to shake the walls.

The curtain swept shut, and the women let out a collective, shuddering gasp of relief, desperate to escape the spotlight. But as they turned to scramble toward the dressing room, a unified chant began rising from the tables, building in volume.

"ENCORE! ENCORE! ENCORE!"

Molly intercepted them before they reached the dressing room. “Wow! They loved you!” she gushed. “Let’s give ’em one more, shall we? They certainly earned it after a response like that!”

Groans filled the air. Defeated, the women lined up again, knowing resistance was futile.

But just before Molly grabbed the curtain rope, she paused and turned around, her eyes suddenly widening with inspiration.

“Oh! I just had a marvelous idea, girls. Let’s make this encore extra special, something they'll be talking about for years. Here’s what we’re going to do...”

She leaned in and whispered her new instructions. The eight women listened in stunned silence, their eyes growing wider with each whispered word. When she finished, all eight wore expressions of utter horror, their faces draining of color.

“And remember,” she called over her shoulder as she walked away, “when the music hits the big crescendo, lift those skirts clean over your backs and shake those hips like there’s no tomorrow! Give them everything you've got!"

Molly pulled the curtain rope, glided down the steps, and took her seat at Tommy’s head table.

The audience cheered wildly as the curtain parted and the energetic music kicked off once more. The dancers went through the motions, their faces tight with dread. About a minute into the reprise, Molly stood up from her chair and flashed them their cue.

To the absolute astonishment and hysterical delight of the spellbound room, all eight women reached under their skirts, hooked their fingers into the waistbands of their ruffled panties, slipped them down their legs, and kicked the undergarments into their hands. In one somewhat synchronized motion, they tossed them high into the air, where they floated down into the outstretched hands of eight ecstatic spectators.

The hall exploded into a madhouse of roars, screams, and booming laughter.

As the music pressed toward its frenzied, galloping peak, a feverish excitement gripped the room. Guests leaned forward in their chairs, breathless for the finale they all knew was coming.

They were not disappointed.

Offenbach’s score hit its raucous, crashing climax. On the final drumbeat, all eight dancers spun on their heels, grabbed their petticoats, hoisted them past their waists, and presented their bare bottoms to the room. They shook their hips from side to side in rhythmic humiliation, their soft flesh jiggling wildly to the driving tempo.

The sight of eight bare, beautiful asses of every shape and size bouncing in unison was a spectacle that would be burned into the memories of everyone present for decades to come.

The hall reached a fever pitch. Guests stood on top of chairs, pounding on tables, their faces flushed and hoarse from screaming.

When the song finally came to a halt, the women spun back around to face the crowd, every one of them beet red, humiliated, and pantyless. Before they could escape, the track looped into one last lightning-fast reprise, forcing them to repeat the entire bare-bottomed finale all over again, much to the exhilaration of the insatiable crowd.

When the music ended for good, the dancers received a thunderous standing ovation. A few of the mortified women covered their burning faces with both hands, tears of shame filling their eyes.

The curtain finally swung closed, cutting off the blinding lights. Shivering and still clutching their skirt hems, the women prayed with every fiber of their being that their ordeal was over.

They had no idea that this was merely the warm-up act.

[Somebody]

I didn't even know about BooksieSilk, how tragic the entire old internet is being dismantled