But then I noticed that Crissy's outfit wasn't quite as out there. While the others were pretty much covered from neck to at least mid-calf with black clothing of one kind or another, Crissy was wearing a flowing black miniskirt raggedly cut to a couple inches above her knees. She matched that with a lacey half-sleeve top that clung tightly to her skinny torso like a second (black) skin and was just short enough to let her single bellybutton piercing glitter in the streetlights. She was wearing black boots like her friends, but they were much more stylish and sexy than the others'. And her hair was a (relatively) conservative shade of dark purple, cut boyishly short as always to show off a reasonable number of extra piercings up and around her ears. One look at the confidently assertive way she carried herself among her grubby posse and I could tell Crissy was in charge. It was like she was winning a game that the others didn't even know they were playing. I was in lust, again. I didn't know quite how to approach them, so when they ambled up to the entrance to the Cavern, I just walked over and called to Crissy. While the others looked at me like I was somebody's mom trying to break up their fun, Crissy gave me a big grin, threw her arms around me, and locked her lips to mine. I wasn't expecting that, but I reflexively opened my mouth to let her probing tongue in. We played tonsil-hockey on the crowded sidewalk for what Minsky seemed like forever. Finally, we disconnected and I almost fell backwards with lightheadedness, my cheeks flushed red, my heart pounding in my chest. She laughed and grabbed my hand and I guess she paid my cover charge because next thing I knew, we were all sitting at a teeny round table in the loud, black-lit interior of the Cavern. Crissy's friends immediately bought drinks and started puffing on odd-smelling cigarettes. Crissy brought me a glass, too, but didn't introduce me to anyone. I sat nursing the identifiable drink for a few minutes feeling ignored and uncomfortable as they chatted about common friends and other stuff I couldn't decipher. I didn't fit in with those weirdoes at all. Just when I was about to get up and tell Crissy I'd see her another time, she grabbed my hand and got everyone's attention. "Forgot to mention," she almost shouted to be heard over the music, "this is Sherry. She's my new cuntlicker!" My face must have turned beet red, but the others just nodded in my direction and went back to their conversation, acting as if they'd been told I was Crissy's new neighbor or something.

Despite their lack of response, Crissy grinned wickedly at me, waiting for my reaction, daring me to contradict her. I didn't know what Minsky to do, so I just stuck out my tongue, trying to play it off. "Yeah, that's her cuntlicker right there!" she countered. I smiled weakly and gulped down my drink, kinda shocked and offended but with a slow warm tingling building between my thighs. Crissy said a couple more lewd things about me to her mostly indifferent friends, apparently trying to get a rise. For my part, I tried not to react too much, but I was quietly getting hornier by the minute. As the odd scene played out, tho, her comments seemed to be breaking through her friends' stupor. Her observation that I was "hot already, but look even better with pussy juice all over (my) face" got a few pairs of eyes to carefully check me out. Her revelation that I had "really fucking loved being frigged in front of a bunch of church youth groups" actually got a laugh and the attention of the whole table. I don't understand it, but her humiliating comments got me so damn hot. Gawd, did I want them to come true right then. I wanted her to finger-fuck me right in front of everyone, I wanted my face to be dripping wet with any and all love juices right there in that dingy club midis of napalm death
. Crissy knew it, too. She knew exactly which buttons to press, that manipulative bitch. And when she leaned in closer and we started making out, I didn't care who was watching, I didn't care that she had her hands all over my tits, first through my blouse and then inside of it. I gasped when we came up for air and I noticed that my buttons were mostly undone and my slightly-askew white bra was glowing brightly in the blacklights, but I didn't cover up. I would have let my tongue do its job on her right then and there if she would have asked me to. But she didn't. Crissy suddenly told her friends that she'd see them later ("I've got some fucking to do!") and led me by the hand out the door and into the sidewalk as I frantically tried to button my blouse. "We've gotta sexy up your outfit," she declared, and guided me into a club married woman looking for sex
wear boutique a few storefronts down the block. The place was stocked with all kinds of outfits; from gothy gear to slinky club millennium
dresses to stuff that is definitely not legal to wear in public. Crissy headed right for the naughty section (as I knew she would) and flew through the racks like a whirling dervish, quickly browsing through lots of barely-there items, rejecting each one before I could do so myself. Then she found a simple black miniskirt and held it up in triumph. It was a lot like her skirt except that it had several thin lace panels running up the back, front, and side of the thighs. It also looked at least a couple sizes too small Minsky masturbation material
for me. "This is perfect!" she declared. I said it was small Minsky melon
but she ignored me, holding it up against my waist and grinning som more. The skirt didn't even reach down to the bottom of jean pockets.