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From: Sir Render <i_am_sirrender@nospam.yahoo.com>
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NNTP-Posting-Date: Fri, 29 Dec 2006 20:36:11 EST
Subject: {ASSM} What Some People Will Do - Chapters 45-46 (cosplay humil exhib) {Sir Render}
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Date: Sat, 30 Dec 2006 05:10:02 -0500
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*****
This is a work of fiction.  All characters are of no age because they 
are not real people.  This story is intended to be read and enjoyed 
by consenting adults only.  Do not read this story if it is illegal 
for you to do so.  The author will not be responsible for your 
actions.  Do not allow anyone under the age of consent to read this 
story.  Again the author will not be responsible for your actions.  
Please do not treat this as a guide for real life; it is only a work 
of fiction.  Do not read this story if descriptions of nudity, sex 
and sexual situations offend you.  Do not repost this story in any 
way which requires payment for access and please do not remove the 
copyright notice when reposting this story.  Thank you.
*****

What Some People Will Do
(C)2000, 2006 by Sir Render (i_am_sirrender@yahoo.com as of November 
2006)

Part 15

Chapter 45

Brenda was ready to leave the Albright house and put this whole 
shameful ordeal behind her.  She went to the front door where she'd 
left her sweatpants and sweatshirt but could not find them.  She 
checked in the entry way closet, in the living room, the dining room 
and even back in Ryan's bedroom.

"Okay, it looks like someone's taken my clothes," she accused to no 
one in particular.

The teens were still leering at her nudity and now that her hour of 
service for the day was done she made the silly decision to place one 
hand over her bush and cross her other arm over her chest.  It wasn't 
as if they had not already seen every bit of her, so she wasn't sure 
why she was bothering to cover up now, but somehow it felt more 
appropriate.

"Are you sure you didn't wash them with the other clothes?  Maybe you 
put them away in Ryan's dresser," one of the boys said.

Brenda shook her head no.  Then, just to be absolutely certain, she 
strode into the boy's room and rummaged in his drawers and looked 
through the closet.  "Nothing," she announced.  "I need my clothes 
back and I need them now."

"Did you maybe drop them in the driveway?" suggested the eighteen 
year old girl.

"No, I didn't wash them."

"But are you certain of that?"

Brenda turned to Ryan and with a  sweet smile asked, "Would you be a 
dear and go look in the driveway and in the garage for me?"

Ryan skipped to the back door and went out.

"They didn't just disappear.  Someone had to have taken them.  I was 
outside about four times.  You had plenty of opportunity to take them 
and hide them.  Tell me where they are."  Brenda was growing angry 
and her voice wavered as she struggled to keep herself from either 
screaming or weeping.

Roger shrugged.  "I was in here with them almost the entire time.  I 
would have seen if they took them."

"Almost the entire time," Brenda said, stressing the word 'almost'.  
"You were outside with me a couple of times.  They could have hidden 
my clothes then."

"But we didn't," one of the boys said.  He turned to each of his 
friends.  "Did any of you see anyone take Mrs. Young's clothes?"

One of the three boys answered,  "No."

The girl said, "Not me."

And the last boy replied quite honestly, "I didn't see anything.  I 
was too busy looking at her."

Realization struck Brenda like a slap across the face.  "What is your 
name again?" she said to the teenage girl.

"Monique."

"Monique, you've been pretty high and mighty all afternoon, 
suggesting things for me to do and ways to try to embarrass me.  I'd 
wager you took my clothes to make me have to go home naked.  Am I 
right?"

Monique turned to her friends.  "Did any of you see me take her 
clothes?"

All three boys shook their heads no.

"Sorry toots," the girl said, "looks like you're barking up the wrong 
tree."

"Brenda," Roger said from the entry way, "we should be going before 
Ryan's parents come home.  We'll find something in the car to throw 
over you on the way back to the studio."

Brenda waved a finger at all the teens.  "When I find out which one 
of you did this, you'll be in big trouble."  Then she walked to the 
front door, slowing her pace with each step.  She really did not want 
to go walk outside, in her own neighborhood and being seen coming out 
of the Albright's home when the adults weren't there, completely 
naked except for her pearl necklace and white heeled sandals.  But it 
didn't look like she had any choice.

The teens followed her in a pack to the front door.  Roger went out 
first and looked both ways to be sure the area was clear.  He 
motioned for Brenda to follow.  She did but not before she felt at 
least three hands cup her ass cheeks.

"No!" she barked.  "Play time is over.  Keep your hands to 
yourselves."  Then she stepped out onto the doorstep and moved 
quickly, arms locked across her chest, across the walk, down the 
driveway and to the curb beside Roger's car.  He pulled the door open 
to let her in and closed it behind her.  He then went to the trunk to 
see if he had anything she could wear.  He came up with nothing but a 
couple of dirty rags he used to wipe the dew from his windows in the 
mornings.

Ryan came around the side of the house and waved.  He didn't have 
anything in his hands which Brenda could wear.

Roger got in, started the car and pulled away from the curb.  As they 
drove back to the studio, Brenda sat low in her seat, one hand still 
over her bush and the other arm across her breasts the whole time.

"You did really well today, Brenda," Roger said after they'd driven a 
few blocks.  "We got some great footage and made that kid's day."

"Tomorrow you hold onto my clothes and don't let them out of your 
sight," Brenda said bitterly.

Thankfully for Brenda, the clothes she had worn to the studio that 
morning were still there, so she was able to drive back to her own 
house in full dress.  When she got there, she noted at least one of 
the Albright parents had arrived home and the teens appeared to have 
left in two cars which had been parked not directly in front of but 
near the property.

Brenda slept fitfully that night.  Jim asked her how her day had been 
but she was still too flustered from the experience to want to talk 
about it.

Brenda got up in the morning with Jim and made him some eggs, toast 
and bacon for breakfast.  After he left for work, she went upstairs 
to shower and shave her legs.  She thought briefly of Wynona's bald 
beaver and momentarily thought of doing the same, but she knew how 
much Jim loved to run his fingers through her short hairs when they 
were making out and since she had that one spot high on her pubic 
mound which could bring her to orgasm just from a few light touches 
she dared not ruin it by giving Jim no reason to rub her there.

When she arrived at the studio around two in the afternoon, Brenda 
was led directly to the wardrobe department, which was just a few 
racks of clothing and costumes at the back of one of the two sound 
stages in the rather small, single story building.

Brenda undressed quickly and selected a plain blue dress from one of 
the racks.  Holding it against her body to check the length, she 
deemed it almost right.  She wouldn't be wearing it for long anyway.  
Holding the dress over her head, she pulled it down the length of her 
slender arms, over her head and shoulders and smoothed it all down 
her body.  The hem of the dress was just above her knees as she 
slipped her feet into a pair of matching blue flats.

She needed something to cover her face and/or hair and found a wide 
brimmed straw-like hat.  It fit well enough -- a little loose but 
that was okay as it covered that much more of her face -- and she 
also put on a pair of brown shaded sunglasses with sort of tiger 
striped brown and tan frames.

As Brenda was exiting the sound stage, another woman, older than she 
but probably no more than thirty-five or thirty-six, and camera man 
Ivan Stanley entered.

"Oh Brenda, let me introduce you to Channel 69's newest on-air 
personality.  Devon Michaels, this is Brenda Young.  She's the star 
of 'What Some People Will Do'."

"And what do you do, miss Young?" the woman asked, holding out one 
hand to be shaken.

Brenda took the offer and lightly shook hands.  "It's something of a 
dare show.  I get dared to do things and... it's a lot of public 
nudity, clothing mishaps, that sort of thing.  What about you?  What 
will you be doing here?"

"My show is called Devon's Diary.  Each week I and a co-star or two 
will act out erotic scenes and sexual encounters from my own life."

Ivan interrupted, "We're here today to do the on-camera interview 
like we did with you and to do some promo shots.  That reminds me, 
when you get back this afternoon Thomas wants to talk to you about 
setting up some bumpers -- commercial breaks, you know."

"Fine, I'll check in with him when I get back.  It was good meeting 
you, Devon."  They shook hands again and Brenda was off to meet up 
with Roger for her second day of nude servitude at the Albright 
residence.

Ryan was home from school when Roger and Brenda arrived.  
Unfortunately for her, three of his friends were there, too -- 
everyone except the girl.  Roger once again walked through the house 
just to be sure everything was in order.  On returning to the living 
room he nodded to Brenda who kicked off her shoes, turned away from 
the four boys crammed onto the sofa and pulled her dress off over her 
head.  She slid it up little by little, first exposing the backs of 
her athletic legs, then her ass.  Next her back was revealed before, 
at long last, the garment was lifted completely over her head and 
tossed to the floor.

Brenda turned to face the boys, all of them having proven their age 
to be eighteen the previous afternoon, with her left hand covering 
her left breast, her right covering her pussy and her right arm 
turned forward in such a way to cover her right breast.

"Today we wanted something a little different," Ryan said when he 
finally caught his breath.  "I asked Roger to bring something along 
for you to wear."

Roger dutifully dropped his bag, which Brenda had just assumed was 
filled with camera and video equipment.  He knelt to unzip it and 
pulled out a very skimpy black French maid costume complete with 
white lace frills and ruffles.

"Just your size," he announced, tossing the crumpled garment to 
Brenda who instinctively reached out to grab it, exposing herself 
fully.  He then tossed her a pair of black fishnet stockings and set 
out a pair of black stiletto heels with sort of silver locking 
anklets to go around her ankles.

"Boys, don't go anywhere," she said, holding the dress to her front 
and walking quickly toward the hallway and into the bathroom.  She 
shut the door for a little privacy as she stuffed herself into the 
dress.  Her breasts just barely fit into the top, which held them 
very tight and close to the point that they were pushed up to spill 
out over the frilly top.  It certainly accentuated her already 
impressive cleavage.  At the bottom, the dress itself ended right at 
her waist leaving nothing but flowing white lace down below to cover 
-- as loosely as that term applied -- her ass and pussy.

She found, along with the fishnets, a black garter belt.  With 
virtually nothing on below her waist, it was easy to fasten that 
around herself.  She sat on the cold edge of the tub and stretched 
out one leg, working one of the fishnet stockings slowly up its 
length.  Then she shifted her weight onto that leg and stretched out 
the other to work the other stocking up.  She fastened the tops to 
the garter belt and stood to examine herself in the mirror over the 
sink.

Brenda Young was a full blooded skank.

She felt very dirty dressed like that.  Never mind that the day 
before she had been completely and totally naked (well, except for a 
pearl necklace and sandals) in front of the same group of teenage 
boys.  To be dressed and yet so thoroughly undressed seemed so much 
dirtier.

But it was only for one hour, and then sometime later in the week she 
would return to perform the third and final hour of her punishment 
for guessing incorrectly the order in which five guys had fucked her 
mouth through the glory hole.  She resolved to get it over with as 
quickly as she could and stepped out of the bathroom.  She padded 
down the carpeted hall and into the living room where she stood bent 
at the waist to strap on the pair of stiletto heels and clasp the 
fasteners around her ankles.  She was painfully aware that her entire 
ass and the warm folds of her womanhood were on display from behind, 
and she was also painfully aware that all four boys were watching and 
making rude comments.

Brenda stood and discovered she had nearly come out of the low-cut 
top.  She tucked her boobs back under the fabric and faced the boys.

"You've got me for one hour," she announced.  "I'll do housework, 
indoors only, and no touching.  What will you have me do first?"

"The vacuum cleaner is in the hall closet.  Bring it here and vacuum 
the living and dining rooms," Ryan Albright commanded.

Brenda did as instructed, going and retrieving the upright cleaner 
from the closet.  She looked for an outlet to plug it in.

"Oh," one of Ryan's friends said, "when you plug that in, do it on 
your knees."

"Yeah!" another one cheered.

"On your knees, slave," said another.  Brenda raised an eyebrow and 
gave that one the evil eye.

"You three are only here because I've allowed it.  You can either 
stay and behave or act like brats and leave."

Brenda expected her cameraman Roger to step up and support her, but 
she didn't expect Ryan to.  "Don't be treating Mrs. Young like 
that," the youth said to his friend.  "She's not your slave.  She's 
not even my slave.  She's just here to work off a debt.  If you talk 
to her like that again, you're not welcome in my house."

"What?  I was only joking," the other guy said with a nervous laugh.

"Then apologize to her," Ryan said.

The guy looked up into Brenda's eyes, then looked down and pretended 
to scrape something from under one of his fingernails.  At last he 
said quietly, "I'm sorry.  I didn't mean it like that."

Brenda nodded.  "Apology accepted."  She unwrapped the power cord 
from the back of the vacuum cleaner and found the nearest wall 
outlet.  Getting down on her hands and knees, she shuffled along for 
a few feet to get close enough to plug the thing in.

From behind her, one of the boys whistled long and low and another 
said something like, "Damn, would you look at that fine ass?"

"Never mind the ass," another one said, "I love the way her pussy 
peaks out between her thighs."

Brenda backed out of the corner she was in, still on her hands and 
knees, before standing and turning around to take hold of the vacuum.  
She started it up, immediately drowning out the boys' comments about 
their favorite parts of her body and what they'd like to do to her.

Brenda spent between eight and ten minutes vacuuming the living room.  
At first she took it easy,not wanting to jiggle or sway out of her 
tight little costume, but as time went on she grew slightly more 
bold.  These guys had already seen her in all her glory, and as long 
as she was careful she could give them quite a little thrill without 
completely exposing herself.  She began pushing the vacuum cleaner 
farther forward with each thrust, forcing her to bend over to keep 
her hold on its handle.

She did notice that after she'd passed in front of the sofa on which 
three of the boys sat, it somehow became dirty again with scraps of 
paper and crumbles of cookies and corn chips from the boys' school 
backpacks.  She gave them a disapproving look but crossed the floor 
in front of them again, her ass and pussy hardly concealed by the 
lace, and got the floor clean for the second time.

When the living room carpet was clean, Ryan directed her to the 
hallway and his bedroom next.  The guys all sat on Ryan's bed and 
watched intently as Brenda first picked up all manner of discarded 
items from the floor -- an empty backpack, a sock, two video game 
controllers, that sort of thing -- and then pushed and pulled the 
vacuum around the room.  The constant movement caused her breasts to 
wriggle ever more toward freedom over the top of her French maid 
costume and forced her at times to stand with her ass pushed out.  As 
she was backing around the far side of the bed, someone's hand landed 
on one of her exposed ass cheeks and squeezed.

Brenda started and spun around.  "Who did that?"  Ryan and two of the 
boys pointed at the fourth.  "You're a very naughty boy," she scolded 
him.

"Oh come on," the eighteen year old said.  "We've all seen your show.  
We've seen you letting guys grope you.  Hell, we've even seen you 
giving blow jobs.  There's four of us here.  That's four big dicks 
for you to suck on."

"Sorry, that's not what I'm here for."

"Your loss," the guy said with a shrug.

"Okay, Ryan, the vacuuming is done.  What's next?"

Ryan removed his round glasses, holding them in one hand while he 
rubbed his eyes with the other.  Putting them back on, he looked at 
her and said, "I guess the house needs a dusting."  He rose and 
showed Brenda to the hall closet to put away the vacuum and retrieve 
the static duster.

"If I dust now, I'll have to vacuum again later," Brenda said.

"You should have thought about that," Ryan retorted with a smirk.

"Boy, you don't care if you ever get on my show again, do you?" 
Brenda retorted.  She saw Ryan's eyes go wide and the color drain 
from his face.  "Just show me what you want dusted."

Ryan had Brenda go around the house, stretching, reaching and 
standing on her tiptoes to dust in the corners of the ceiling and the 
tops of the curtains covering all of the windows.  This naturally 
left Brenda's bottom completely bare and constantly threatened to 
release her tits to the open air.  He then directed her to the 
bookshelves in the living room and some decorative plate racks on the 
walls of the dining room.

Brenda was halfway through the bookshelves when the dust started to 
get to her.  She sneezed not once, not twice but three times.  
Sniffling and rubbing her nose to stop the tingling, she continued 
with her work.  Roger mouthed to her that they had half an hour to 
go, so she slowed her pace a bit to stretch out the work.  She didn't 
want to find out what else Ryan would have her do when the dusting 
was finished, and she still had another hour of service to perform 
for him over the next week.

The static duster was full of dirt by now, so Brenda carried it to 
the back door where she stood in the open doorway and shook the 
duster until it seemed mostly clean.  The strings of clinging dust 
billowed up in the afternoon breeze, causing her to sneeze.

Brenda sneezed several times in short succession.  She stood, bent 
over with her hands on her knees as she sneezed uncontrollably.

Ryan brought her a box of tissue and placed a hand on her bare bottom 
to help her stand up straight while she blew her nose.  She was a 
little dizzy and seeing sparkling stars around the edges of her 
vision from all the sneezing, so she hardly noticed his advances as 
he caressed her smooth curves.

"Are you going to be okay?" he asked.

"Yes, I think so," Brenda replied with a plugged up, nasal sound to 
her voice.

"Okay, then there isn't much more dusting to to.  You're almost 
done."

Brenda returned to the living room and continued dusting the shelves, 
the top and back of the television and the coffee table, which she 
chose to crouch down to clean rather than stand with her ass sticking 
out.  She then moved into the dining room and dusted the decorative 
plates and the racks holding them.  It was clear they had not been 
cleaned in quite some time, and the amount of dust quickly got to her 
nose again.

"WACHOO!  Achoo!  Ah-- ah-- ah--"

Brenda stood, back arched slightly and one index finger pressed to 
her upper lip.  Meanwhile all the guys were craning their heads to 
get a good eyeful of her completely exposed, brown furred pussy.

"You've got a very nice bush," one of them said.

"Yeah, it's incredible.  Your husband is one lucky son-of-a-bitch."

"Achoo!"  Brenda tipped forward with the force of the pent-up sneeze 
and the top of her French maid costume finally had enough.  One of 
her C cup breasts bounced and jiggled its way to freedom, spilling 
completely over the frilly top and jutting forth proudly for all to 
see.

"Damn that is fucking hot!" Ryan said.  "I've always loved the sight 
of a girl with one tit hanging out."

"What do they feel like?" two of his friends asked, turning their 
attention to him, knowing from watching the show on cable that Ryan 
had had his hands on them before.

"Hey guys, I'm standing right here," Brenda said, more concerned it 
seemed with stopping them from talking about her in her presence than 
she was in stuffing her errant breast back into the skimpy costume.

"Yeah, but we know you won't let us feel them.  If we want to know, 
we have to ask."

"That is," the fourth guy said slowly, "unless you will let us feel 
them.  Then we won't have to talk about you like you're not here."

Ryan, not wanting to let his school friends have any chance of 
getting their grubby hands on his neighbor's fabulous tits, said, 
"They're incredible.  They're soft to the touch but firm.  As you can 
see, they defy gravity."  All eyes were once again glued to Brenda's 
chest.

She sneezed again, causing her free breast to bounce enticingly.  
Brenda turned away and worked for several seconds to restrain it 
within her top, then she adjusted the top to try and better fit both 
heavy breasts.  Tugging at the hem of the far-too-short dress, she 
realized that she could not give her lower half any better coverage 
without completely losing the little cover she had on top.  Either 
her breasts and belly could be covered, or her belly, pussy and ass 
could be covered, but not all three.

"Well it looks like you'd better get the vacuum back out," Ryan 
suggested after a minute.

"Right."  Brenda took the duster to the back door again and shook it 
outside.  She then returned it to the hall closet and pulled out the 
vacuum cleaner for the second time.  She got down once again on her 
hands and knees to crawl behind the sofa to plug it in, then stood 
and flicked on the power.  She cleaned around the areas where she had 
dusted before returning the cleaner to the closet.

"We've only got about twelve minutes left," Roger announced.

Brenda looked to the guys all sitting on the living room floor 
watching her.  "Not enough time to do much more," she said.  "Do you 
all want a snack again?"

"Sure."

"Hell yeah!"

"Yeah, thanks."

"I've got something you can snack on."

Brenda turned to look at the boy who'd made that comment.  Not 
surprisingly it was the same one who'd called her his slave earlier 
that afternoon.  She walked over to him, crouched down and put her 
face an inch from his.  Running one fingernail up his belly and over 
his chest she asked, "Do you really want to feed it to me?  Because I 
will suck you so hard you won't be able to see straight for a month.  
You'll think your balls came out through your dick when I make you 
cum.  Is that what you want?"

"Y-yes," the young man stammered.

"As if," Brenda said with a dismissive wave and roll of her eyes as 
she stood and headed for the kitchen.  Brenda washed her hands in the 
kitchen sink and then made sandwiches.  As the boys ate, Brenda went 
to the bathroom to remove her pitifully small costume.  She returned 
to the living room wearing just the stilettos and looked for her 
dress.

"Roger?  You were supposed to hang onto my street clothes this time.  
Where are they?"

"I... don't know."  Roger said, but he couldn't hold the straight 
face. He burst into laughter and tossed his bag to her.

"Very funny," she said, pulling out her dress and hat.  She put them 
on in the middle of the room while the teenagers stared at her, their 
sandwiches forgotten.

"It isn't polite to eat with your mouth open," Brenda scolded.  She 
sat in a chair at the table and tried to remove the stilettos, but 
the clasps around her ankles seemed to be stuck.  She felt around 
with both hands and discovered what appeared to be a tiny key hole on 
the underside of each clasp.

"Have you got the key to these?" she asked Roger who was still 
filming.

"No, I didn't know they needed a key.  Why would shoes need a key?"

"You're not yanking me around again are you?"

"No!  Honest.  Why would shoes need a key?"

"Well then it looks like I'm stuck in them," Brenda said, leaning 
back in her chair.  She turned to face Ryan.  "By the way, what 
happened to my sweats from yesterday?"

"Oh, those.  It turns out Monique hid them in her backpack.  After 
you left she showed them to us."

Everyone, including Roger, laughed at Brenda's expense.

"Did she leave them?" Roger asked.  "They belong to the studio and 
we'd like them back."

"What, they were just some old sweats.  What do you need them for?"

"Because they're property of the studio and if they're not returned 
we expect to be paid for them.  They cost money."

Ryan sighed heavily, got up from the table and went to his bedroom.  
He took the gray sweatpants and sweatshirt, the only things which had 
touched Brenda's body during her visit the day before, from the 
bottom of one of his dresser drawers where he also kept a small stack 
of porno magazines.  He brought the clothes to Roger who put them 
into his bag along with the French maid costume.


Chapter 46

"Okay, now tell me really, where's the key for these shoes?" Brenda 
asked when they'd driven about a block.

"I honestly don't know," Roger replied.  "Maybe I picked up the wrong 
pair of shoes.  Maybe these were meant for a gag bit or some kind of 
bondage scene for one of our other shows.  I don't know.  Or maybe 
when the studio bought them, we just didn't know they had actual 
locks on the ankle straps."

"Yeah, that's the kind of thing that would be easily missed," Brenda 
said sarcastically.

"Well I don't know.  I didn't buy 'em.  I just picked them up from 
wardrobe this morning."

"Well have you got a pair of scissors?  Or a pocket knife?  Anything 
I can use to cut them off?"

"Oh I don't think Mr. Griffith would like that.  Those are studio 
property and I'm sure they cost a pretty penny.  It was money well 
spent.  You do look great wearing them."

"Yeah, well hey, I'll be wearing them for the rest of my life then."

They stopped at the studio and hurried inside.  Only the receptionist 
was in and she knew nothing about a key for the lock on a pair of 
shoes.  "Why would shoes have a lock?" she asked.

Roger scratched the back of his head.  "I said the same thing.  But 
there they are and they're locked around her ankles."

"Well I don't know nothing about a key.  If you hurry you might catch 
a locksmith before they close for the day."

"Brilliant!" Roger exclaimed.  "Find me the nearest locksmith shop."

The receptionist got online and looked up locksmiths in the area.  
"There's one downtown.  It looks like it's in the strip mall at Mills 
and Fourth."

"Let's get going," Roger said, guiding Brenda toward the door.

The strip mall in question was about two miles from the studio, in 
old town.  Most of the shops there were older, run down and never did 
much business.  Some of them were so old they had brick walls and 
apartments upstairs.  But the strip mall itself was a newer portion 
of old town, built probably in the sixties or seventies, and 
contained such attractions as a video game store, a frozen yogurt 
store and plus size women's clothing boutique.  Right smack in the 
middle of the parking lot was a concrete island no more than fifteen 
feet by twelve feet and on this island stood a sort of prefabricated 
shack with a sign over the door which simply read "KEYS".  The front 
and most of one side of the shack, from about three feet off the 
ground to the roof at about seven feet, was made entirely of tinted 
bulletproof glass.  The rest of the building appeared to be made of 
thick plastic or more likely fiberglass.

The parking lot was about one-third full, but no one was parked 
around the locksmith's island.  Roger stopped his car right in front 
and stepped out.  Brenda followed suit and went inside the small 
shack.

A tall, thin, middle-aged man with a receding hairline and weathered 
face looked up from his key cutting machine.  "How can I help you?" 
he asked politely.

"Well it's a bit of a touchy subject," Roger began.  He looked to 
Brenda and then back to the locksmith.  "My friend here, well... for 
some unknown reason those shoes she's got on..."

"They have locks on the straps," Brenda finished.  She held out one 
foot as if to demonstrate.

"The shoes have locks?" the man asked.

"Yes, but I didn't realize it at the time.  On the bottom of the 
clasps which go around the ankles are two little tiny locks and no 
one seems to have the key to unlock them."

"Well I think you two have brought me the strangest issue of the 
week.  Congratulations.  You say the locks are on the bottoms of the 
clasps?"  Brenda nodded her head.  "Turn around and lift one leg so I 
can see, please."

Brenda balanced herself against the counter top with the key cutting 
machine and lifted her right leg up until her black stiletto heel 
made contact with her backside.  The locksmith took hold of her foot 
and looked at the strap around her ankle.

"Oh!" she said pulling away slightly.  "I'm a little ticklish on my 
feet."

The man bent down for a closer look.  After a few minutes he stood 
and announced, "That is most interesting.  Never seen anything quite 
like that before.  I've seen lovers with handcuffs where they'd lost 
the key, but never anything quite like this."

"We're NOT lovers," Brenda snapped.  "We work together."

"I'll have to have you sit down and raise your feet so I can work on 
those locks.  Um-- not much place to sit in here, I'm afraid.  
There's this one chair in back but you'll have to rest your foot on 
the edge of the counter so I can work.  I hope you don't mind."

"Just tell me you can get these things off," Brenda replied.

"Oh I can.  I can indeed.  But they're very small locks.  It will 
take some time to do."

He pulled out an old padded office chair from the back of his shop 
and pushed it up near the counter.  Brenda sat down and raised her 
right leg until she could rest her heel on the edge of the counter.

As the locksmith rummaged in drawers to find tools small enough to 
work on the jewelry-sized lock, he said, "I don't suppose it's any of 
my business, but I don't get many people in here long enough to talk 
to most days.  How did you manage to get your feet locked into a pair 
of spiked heel shoes?"

Brenda blushed and looked away.

"She was trying them on as part of a costume.  Getting ready for 
Halloween," Roger said.  "Apparently she just chose the wrong pair of 
shoes to try."

"Uh huh.  What kind of costume?" the man said as he placed a jewelers 
microscope over his left eye.

Brenda blushed again.  She saw Roger, standing behind and out of 
sight of the locksmith, motioning emphatically to her.  He seemed to 
be mouthing the words, "Go on and tell him."  Brenda cleared her 
throat and, without looking at either man said, "It's a French Maid 
costume."

"Well you've certainly got the legs for it," the man said as he 
inspected the lock on Brenda's right ankle.  "If you don't mind my 
saying so," he added after a moment.

"Maybe she can model it for you; get your opinion on how well she 
wears it."

Brenda looked in shock at her cameraman.  He motioned with his thumb 
over his shoulder and then made gestures like using a camcorder.  He 
stepped outside and she saw him go to the trunk of his car where he 
stored his gear and the bag containing the costume.

"Oh that's not necessary," the balding locksmith said, still intently 
inspecting the lock on a near microscopic scale.

As Roger stepped back into the doorway, Brenda swallowed a lump in 
her throat and said, "No, no it's okay.  I'd like to get your opinion 
on how I look in it.  But I'll need some place to change clothes."

"Heh, well miss, this is all the place I have," he said, standing 
straight and motioning around the dimly lit room.  He turned his 
attention temporarily to Roger and Brenda mouthed to her cameraman 
that she was going to kill him for this.  Roger just shrugged and 
dropped the back at her feet.  The locksmith said, "Just so you know, 
I don't keep any money in the shop.  If you're trying to rob me, you 
won't get anything of value."

"Actually," Roger said taking a breath, "we're filming a kind of 
reality TV game show.  My colleague here takes dares to perform in 
public and I film her."  He bent down and got his camcorder out of 
the bag.  "If you'll allow it, I'd like to have her change into her 
Halloween costume now while you work on those locks.  We won't show 
anything that would personally identify you or your shop without your 
written consent.  We can blur out your face if you're worried about 
being seen on TV."

"I should say I am worried," the man objected.  "I run a decent 
family business.  I can't--" he turned and saw Brenda just pulling 
her blue dress off over her head.  She stood for a moment in nothing 
at all but her stilettos.

"Is this that hidden camera show where you try to make people make 
asses of themselves and then tell them they're on TV?" the locksmith 
asked.

"It wouldn't be very candid with me standing here showing you the 
camera, now would it?" Roger said.

Brenda laid the dress neatly over the back of the chair, bent down 
again and came up with the tiny maid costume.  "Do you mind if I 
change?" she asked somewhat belatedly.  She took the man's gaping 
mouth and stunned silence as a 'no' and pulled the costume down over 
her body, making sure to carefully adjust her breasts in the 
extremely low-cut and tight top.

Brenda turned slowly, with her hands raised to each side.  "So, what 
do you think?  How do I look?"

The man took several deep gulps of air before replying, "Just fine.  
You look just fine."

Brenda sat back down on the chair, then stood and tried to rearrange 
the frilly lace just barely covering her ass and sat again.  "This 
chair's a little scratchy," she complained.  She raised her right 
foot high again, using her hand running up the backside to help lift 
it higher like a ballet dancer, then set her heel back onto the 
counter top.

Her furry brown pussy was completely displayed to the man and with 
one leg up on the counter her labia were parted ever so slightly.

"Now then, about these locks?" Brenda said after more than a minute 
of silence in the small shack.

Clearing his throat three of four times, the locksmith pried his gaze 
away from the vixen's inviting body and tried to be as professional 
as he could with a sexy, teasing tramp before him and a camera man 
watching his every move from behind.

The locksmith worked for many minutes with various tiny instruments, 
placed a hand on Brenda's smooth calf to roll and pivot her leg as 
needed to get at the lock's internals.  As he worked, he 
unconsciously slid his hand farther and farther up her leg so that by 
the time he succeeded in picking the lock, he was holding onto her 
kneecap.

"Alright," he said gruffly, "turn around and place your other foot on 
the counter, please."  He and she exchanged positions and Roger took 
up a stance over Brenda's head where he could angle his camera down 
into the valley of her cleavage and see wisps of her pussy hair 
peaking out from the lace skirt portion of the dress.

As before, the locksmith's hand on Brenda's leg kept inching upward 
while he worked with the innards of the lock.  He passed her kneecap 
and was halfway up her thigh before he got the second lock open.

Brenda, relieved to be done with those accursed shoes, pulled them 
both off and stood in her bare feet on the cement floor.  Actually, 
there was no floor; the shack was just walls and a roof bolted onto 
the cement island in the middle of the parking lot.

"If you like," said the locksmith, I can get a key made for you, but 
I don't have any blanks in the right size so I'll have to special 
order it.

"They're your shoes," Brenda said, shrugging at Roger.  "I'll have 
nothing more to do with them."

"That's okay," Roger said.  "If they ever get worn again, we'll deal 
with it then.  Thank you for your help.  How much do we owe you?"

"Oh, emergency lock picking service, unusually small lock requiring 
special equipment and a half hour's work, that will run you sixty 
dollars."  Looking into the camera he added, "And you won't find a 
cheaper rate anywhere in town."

"Heh, well I think I have sixty here," Roger said fishing his wallet 
out of his back pocket.  "Unless you'd care to..." he started to say 
to Brenda.  She just shook her head no.  Roger counted out fifty-six 
dollars.  "That's all I have," he said.

"I take credit cards," the man replied.

Roger said, "Fair enough, but I know you pay a fee for every credit 
card transaction.  All businesses do.  It's easier and more 
convenient, but the processor charges you for it.  So how about we 
call it even at fifty-six in cash?  Oh, and never mind the camera.  
I've turned it off."  Roger set the camera down, facing away from 
them to prove his point.

"Yeah alright.  Fifty-five it is then."

"Thank you," Brenda said as she picked up the shoes and carried them 
to the car.

"Uh Brenda, your dress?" Roger said.

Brenda slapped her hand to her forehead, turned around and came back 
into the shop to get the blue dress which had fallen off the back of 
the chair.  As she bent over to pick it up, she showed her full moon 
to the two men and Roger wished he hadn't turned his camera off.

END OF PART 15
You can read more of Sir Render's original adult stories at 
http://sirrender.syntheticdimension.net/

NOTE:  As of December 2006 I am working on new chapters to add to 
"What Some People Will Do".  I am looking for new ideas and 
directions for the story and have put a feedback form on my website 
if you would like to make suggestions.  Thank you!  Sir Render

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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