That was this summer. I had very long relationship and last year i got ridden of it. So I sex occasionally wit various girls till then. One night this September I was very very tired of everything. Job went finally better and some private investing also, but I had being working for 14 hours a day at time. It was About 1 am in the morning and was just went of from long shower and about to lay down on my bad.The voice from the other side of cell phone was very pleasant, some kind of baby talking voice. Voice said" Annnn' what what do want from me now?...LOL.. i said "who is this?&... Continue»
(Author's note: this is an early version of a much longer erotic novel. It's been through a lot of edits, but I really like some of the early versions that got canned. I hope you don't mind me reproducing them here. Of all the stories I've written - which is a lot! - Caitlin is one of my favourite creations, and I'm always looking to giver her greater exposure, as are the men (and women) in her life! You can follow her continued adventures in the different versions of the story called "Strange Relationship")
Originally I had no intention at all of meeting Ben again; it was the girls who talked me into it. Once I’d confessed to them that we’d met up for a drink, they were full of questions. None of them particularly like Richard, even though they haven’t met him. But they’ve all been around when I’ve had texts telling me he was going to be late, or heard him on the phone breaking a date. They never thought to ask how far Ben and I had gone on the date, which was good because I wouldn’t have been able to lie very well to them. I did suggest that he seemed ‘interested’, and once that was out they insisted they would frog-march me to meet him if I didn’t agree to go. Surprisingly enough Richard was busy the following night – he had some sort of print worker’s convention that required him to stay overnight – so I was totally free, if I did want to go. I met the girls for lunch, had a glass of wine, and allowed myself to be talked into it.
The bar in question was some way from the scene of our previous date, and c completely different type of bar. It favoured a slightly more mature clientele, which I thought was very considerate of him. Perhaps he’d seen me wincing as I tried to ignore the din from the other bar (do they call it gangster rapping, or something like that?). This one had deep leather sofas in various colours in pairs facing each other, and although the walls were adorned with flat-screen TVs they were easy to ignore. The music was soft and quiet, summery almost, all pianos and glitterballs. I took a stool at the bar and when a very smart barman smiled expectantly and placed a napkin before me, I ordered a gin and tonic.
I was rather hoping that Ben would think I looked rather better out of work clothes – and in partying clothes, rather than just out of clothes altogether. This was my number one LBD, short and silky, delicate cleavage allowing the choice of whether to go with undies or not. I decided I would, simply because I do pride myself on being a connoisseur of lingerie and therefore own many items that he may or may not be lucky enough to get a look at. Underneath this was a pink and black set, very lacy, and not very much of it. The cups gave me rather more cleavage than would normally be available and honestly, there’s nothing that gives a girl more of a confidence boost than looking down and seeing the cleavage of a supermodel. Well, nothing that gives this girl more confidence anyway.
I was a little early, admittedly, because the taxi had been early. That I’d been sat watching for the taxi from the dining room window for fifteen minutes already should not necessarily be seen as a sign of desperation. I admit that I was looking forward to seeing him. He was smart, good-looking, charming, and sexy as hell, so why would I not be looking forward to it? Well, yes, there is the Richard factor to consider, but honestly, the way he’s been treating me lately, he’s lucky I still answer the phone when he calls. Apart from the brief outing the other day (yes, the one where we discovered that I’d had sex with his son, thanks for reminding me I don’t think) I’d seen him one in two weeks, or was it three? Certainly it was now into weeks, rather than days, since we’d last had sex.
Eleven minutes. That was all it took, and sometimes the eleven minutes included him undressing himself and folding his clothes neatly on the chair. He’d never been full of passionate abandon (by which I mean he’d never failed to untie his shoelaces before taking them off) but our sex life had been, well, pleasant enough until recently. I was satisfied that he seemed a decent man, respectable, comfortably enough off, and in my lonely state of spinsterhood that I occupied back then these seemed like important things.
So, the fateful eleven minutes. Sex usually begins when we’re already in bed. I don’t think he likes to be seen nude with the light on, so we’re in bed and in the dark. He’ll roll over and hug me, and when I feel some life in his flaccid little member, then I know that I’m in for a good – sorry, pleasant – time. We’ll kiss for two minutes, then he’ll start to grope around down south, to see if I’m starting to get wet. I know this is coming, so generally I’ve been touching myself a little beforehand, so it feels like his ol’ OFT magic is working on me. If I’m lucky, he’ll remember I have breast and nipples before he dives in gung-ho at the business end, so we’ll put down three minutes for foreplay. Then, often at my behest, he’ll roll over on top of me. He never sl**ps in his briefs, which saves me the necessity of touching them. We’ll kiss for another minute or so while he’s on top, and then I feel him nudging his thing wherever he feels a damp patch. This calls for intervention from me again to make sure that it goes in the right hole, because there is no way the he is getting access to my bum! I don’t want to do it with people I might actually like having sex with, let alone him.
We’ve reached the six-minute mark, and he’s just got inside me. I have to beg him to go slowly at first, and I swear that sometimes he smiles at this point. It’s as though he thinks his almighty todger is stretching me in some way and I have to pause to become accustomed to it. Actually, I have this little fantasy that I might share with you later that I have to run through in order to get myself wet enough to carry on. We’re on to six and a half, maybe seven minutes if I have to let the fantasy run on a little.
Then the grinding begins, and I start pulling faces that I imagine make me look interested. Recently I’ve moved my alarm clock from the bedside table, because I’d found I’d taken to counting the seconds off until his orgasm. That’s how predictable Richard has become. I don’t think I’ve ever been more than fifteen seconds off with one of my guesses. Then there’s the question of positions. I described sex with Richard to the girls over lunch once, pretty much as I am doing with you now. Jenny described him as being like George Bush; he had a position, and there wasn’t anything that anyone could say or do that would make him change it. I’d taken to counting the time since I last did it in something other than the missionary position in leap years because it made it sound that much more respectable.
Around the ten and a quarter, maybe ten and a half minute marking, he would clench his bum and his face. Sometimes I could even tell the difference between them! Then the rush comes, and I practice my faking while he dribbles over me. For some reason he won’t come inside me, only over me. When he’s done grunting, he goes to the bathroom to tidy up. I go when he returns. By the time I return, he’s usually asl**p. I may get a peck on the cheek if he’s facing the same way as me, but that’s pretty unusual. So that’s our love life. Eleven minutes is not quite enough to get me to heaven and back! But at least you see why Ben holds such an attraction for me. I remember once discussing our sex lives on a night out with the girls, when Tash was complaining about sex with her boyfriend. They’d gotten all cuddly, she complained, when sometimes (and I quote) “a girl wants to be trussed up and banged like a whore”. At that time I was a little shocked at her, but now I do understand what she meant, even if I would probably have described it a more eloquent way.
At this point Ben is now some ten minutes late. As ten minutes is nothing, and as I spent two hours getting ready, I’m more than prepared to wait. The barman has checked me out twice already, so at least I know someone thinks I look good. Finishing my drink, I catch his eye and order the same again.
At the fifteen minute mark I’m a little put off, but once it gets to the thirty minute mark I’m actively starting to get pissed off. I’m actively starting to get d***k too, because the cute barman has now cleared away four glasses and the fifth is down to the dregs. Two red wines followed the two gin and tonics, and because I didn’t specify which size glass I wanted they came as large ones. Glancing around again at the door I catch the barman’s eye, which he takes as a sign to refill my glass. He pushes the ten pound note back across the bar to me and smiles, signifying that this one is on him. And now I wonder; do I have it in my power to pull a second gorgeous young man in a week?
With the sound of La Cucaracha (I really should get a better ring tone) my thoughts about toy boys are stifled, especially when I look at the display and realise it’s Richard.
“Hello.” That’s me, full of enthusiasm.
“Hello Cate, how are you?”
“I’m okay.” I don’t really feel like talking to him and I am hoping that it doesn’t show too much. “How’s your convention?”
“Well, you know, full of dull men talking about dull stuff.” Ah, he’s already done his presentation then.
“Never mind, at least you’ll be home, what, Wednesday? The day after tomorrow?”
“Yes… that’s why I’m calling.” Here we go.
“I’ve made a very important contact already, I could do with stopping an extra day. I’ll be home Thursday afternoon at the very outside.”
“What!” Careful Caitlin, you’ll cause a scene. In public – the scandal! “We’ve got reservations on Wednesday night! We’ve had these plans for a month!”
“I know and I’m really sorry, it’s just that this company, they-”
“Oh, save it Richard, it’s not like we’re actually discussing it, you’ve already told them you’ll go. I suppose I should be grateful that you’re even telling me in advance.” Like father, like son, as the cliché goes. If I’m not waiting on one, I’m waiting on the other!
“It’s not all bad – Ben’s invited us round for a meal on Thursday. He’ll cook for us, he’s a really terrific cook.” Hmmm, that changes things. I mean, I know I’ve been sat cursing him for the last ten minutes, but this way I definitely get to see him. Play it cool, Caitlin.
“Well, I suppose we’ll have to make do with that then.”
“It’ll be nice Cate, he’s a really excellent cook and I think you’ll find he’s got a little surprise for you. I’ll get some wine, and I’ll drive so you can have a drink, we’ll have a nice time. He’s good, he really is.” This much I know. In fact it’s a shame you can’t take lessons from him. “I’m sorry about Wednesday, but it’ll be a nice night. Look, I have to go. Call you tomorrow.” The buzzing tone from the phone told me he’d already gone.
I snapped the phone shut, glaring at it. Looking round for the barman, I drained the glass of wine I’d only just received, trying to decide whether I really could get something out of him. I had a companion at the bar, a slim young woman with long, tousled blonde hair to the middle of her back, wearing a tiny denim skirt with a white basque top and some of the most gorgeous heels you could ever go into your overdraft for. You’re staring at her chest, but we notice each other’s shoes. She too was involved on the phone, and by the sounds of it she was having a similar conversation with her very own Richard. Shouting a little to get the last word in, she slammed her phone down on the bar and yelled for the barman, who seemed to be hovering at a discreet distance from both of us.
“Barman! Excuse me, can I get a drink please?” She snatched her purse up from the bar and, looking up, caught me looking at her. “Hi. You have man trouble too?” All I could offer was a nod and a feeble smile. “Well look, we shouldn’t let shits like them get us down.” The barman flinched visibly.
“I think we’d like two glasses of wine please,” I said to him, indicating my distressed companion, “and I think you better make them both large ones.”
“That’s a good idea!” my new companion beamed. “I’ll have two large wines as well please! In fact, just fetch us a bottle each and then bugger off and flirt with someone who doesn’t currently hate men.” She jumped down from her bar stool and perched on the one next to mine. Her skirt, already tiny, hitched up even further to reveal probably the perfect set of legs, climaxing in a little white V of lace knickers. I tried not to look – I tried not to get caught looking – I failed at both. A little flustered to have been caught as an unintentional voyeur, I poured my wine hastily and some slopped over the side. Taking the chance to introduce myself, I also filled my new friend’s.
“Hi, I’m Caitlin. No-one who expects to walk afterwards calls me Cate,” I smiled, “except the person who has just hung up on me, and he’s so self-obsessed he doesn’t even notice when I ask him not to.”
“You see? You hate your name being shortened, yet you can’t make the only man that does it even register your discomfort.” She took a quick, unceremonious slurp at her drink in a manner that belied her extremely agitated state. “I’m Jodie, by the way; and I’ll wear as earrings the bollocks of the first man that calls me Joe!” We laughed together, firmly bonded as s****rs in the sorority of women who hated their men. As we took another drink, I took the opportunity to look at her a little more closely.
Her lips, as perfectly made up as the rest of her, were full and inviting. Her hair was made up in that just crawled out of bed style that takes so long to replicate, and her eyes, in combination with her cheekbones, lent her face a sullen, almost sluttish look when she wasn’t smiling. I found myself thinking that if there was a man somewhere that was blowing her off for a night watching football or drinking with his mates, then men were more stupid that either of us really thought. She wasn’t just gorgeous, she was exactly what I thought men would find sexy. Just goes to show how wrong I can be, because here she was alone.
Clearly she didn’t consider herself alone, because she had me. An hour later I realised that we’d been having such fun (and such wine) that I hadn’t realised that I’d been stood up, more than ninety minutes ago. My new friend Jodie had an endless supply of anecdotes, witticisms, and barbed comments that had me enraptured. Bearing in mind that the two bottles of wine we’d originally ordered were long gone, as where the following two, Jodie could have read out the North Sea weather report and I’d have fallen about laughing.
“So what’s your bloke like?” She asked, looking earnest for almost the first time.
“Fat, old and ugly!” I laughed. “He’s just devoted to his work, I imagine because it’s his own company. He works in printing and advertising and marketing, and he likes to have a hand in everything. Doesn’t like to leave things to other people. The problem with that is that I’m always left like this, on my own. It’s a shame really because he can be sweet and considerate.”
“And in bed?” My inebriation left me immune to the forwardness of the question, and I answered it with a noise that was supposed to indicate my derision. After I’d wiped my nose, I gave her a more verbose answer.
“Awful. Unimaginative and short-lived are probably his best points.”
“What’s his cock like?”
“Hmmm… awful, unimaginative and short-lived!” Laughing, I explain myself. I attempt to anyway, in between embarrassed pauses, “Sometimes… it’s like, umm, it’s like it’s not quite hard enough.”
“No!” She looked almost outraged. “You’re gorgeous, I can’t believe that he can’t get hard for you.” I blushed, I mean a proper rosy-cheeked blush. “Do you get all dressed up for him?”
“He wouldn’t even notice if I did. It’s not like I don’t have anything nice to wear for him, but we only have sex in bed with the light off so there’s not really any point.”
“I know what you mean. I’ve got a PVC air hostess outfit in baby blue that I wore with white fishnet stockings for my man once. Didn’t notice. I served his tea in it, sat there while he watched a match on TV and he never noticed once. When the match was over, he got up and went straight to bed.”
“What did you do?”
“What any other girl would do, of course; banged some porn on and frigged myself silly on the sofa.” It probably wasn’t what I would do, I thought, taking a deep draught of the wine.. She did the same, then asked, “What do you wear?”
“Oh crikey, nothing like that. I’ve got some nice underwear, but he never notices it either.”
“You look like the sort of woman who takes care in her underwear. Let’s have a look!”
“What do you mean?”
“Give us a quick flash, I want to see what you’ve got on. All you’ve got to do us hoist your dress up a little; that teenage pot-washer isn’t about and there’s no-one in the bar.” She was completely earnest about it, but I was almost in shock just at being asked. Who on earth shows their smalls to a complete stranger, and in a bar too? “Seriously, let’s have a look. What’s it like?”
“Pink, pink and black,” I stuttered, unsure of how this game was played. “Pink and black, very lacy, little bows on and stuff.”
“I love girly stuff like that, all lace and bows. Makes me hot just wearing it, doesn’t it you? If I wear it while I’m working, I can’t make it through the afternoon without a little wank halfway through the day.” Relieved at the chance to change the conversation, I asked her what she did for a living.
“Photography, glamour and fashion mostly. I’m free-lance, and my other half isn’t wanting for money, so I can pick and choose what jobs I want to do. I do a lot for magazines, and I have a studio at home.”
“Do you like what you do?”
“Christ, photography is my life! I love what I do, I mean really love it. In the earliest photo of me I have a toy camera in my hand, and generally I still have. Look,” she said, ferreting in her clutch bag, “I carry a compact digital with me all the time in case a good photo op pops up.” I was about to ask her another question, but my attempts at a stealthy deflection were neither as stealthy nor as deflective as I wished.
“So come on then, show us what you’ve got on! Look, I’ll show you mine first.” At that, she glanced briefly around the room, then inched her denim skirt up the small amount it needed for her to show me what she’d got. It looked like a tiny white g-string, pretty, but not exceptional. I was a little surprised that she’d insisted on showing me.
“It’s this skirt, I can’t get the damn thing high enough for you to… look, give me your-” grabbing my hand, she thrust it between her legs. Too stunned to complain as she moved my hand about between her legs, I just looked at her. She laughed at me.
“I’m trying to get you to feel!” she whispered, in something akin to the noise a Harrier jump jet makes on take-off. As my fingers brushed something hard and a little cold, I realised. She let loose my hand, and, trying not to touch anything that felt at all moist or warm, I realised there was a string of beads or something. I think I furrowed my brow, but there were at least fifty different questions that came to mind so I don’t know how she knew which to answer.
“Oh, I’ll show you! Come on!” She snatched my hand away from her snatch and jumped off the stool. I could do little but follow as she made her way somewhat clumsily between the tables and led me to the toilets. Once there, she pushed me into the first open cubicle and followed me in, slamming the door behind her. It hit the wall of the cubicle and bounced open again, but by that time she was already hitching her skirt up to her waist and paid it no mind.
“Look!” She exclaimed. “It’s one of those pearl thongs. They go right round between your legs.” I was sort of peering at her to get a better look, so she bustled me out of the way and hoisted one leg up onto the toilet seat. Sure enough, a string of shiny pearls stretched between her legs, right between her swollen and reddened lips.
“Don’t they, you know, rub on you?” She looked at me incredulously.
“You don’t think that that’s, you know, sort of the whole point?” It hadn’t occurred to me and I indicated to that effect.
“You mean you don’t even own a pearl thong? The most incredible piece of underwear that a man can buy his girl, and this guy, Dick?”
“He hasn’t even bought you one?”
“No. I never even knew about it until just now.”
“Oh Caitlin, you don’t know what you’re missing!” She took me by the wrist again, more gently this time, and used my fingers to trace delicately around the string of pearls. I wasn’t too sozzled to note that she wasn’t just providing me with a feel of how the pearls felt; more, she just used my hands to provide a feel, full stop.
“They’re very nice.” I said, for want of something more constructive. I wasn’t comfortable with my hand between this young woman’s legs, but I didn’t really know how to stop her. This was not how I had imagined the evening would play out.
“Caitlin, you have no idea!” she squealed. Then, finally stopping masturbating with my hand, a sinister smile came across her face. “Look, put mine on for a little while. You can see how it feels!”
“No, I couldn’t-”
“Trust me. I know what you’re thinking, another girl’s pants and all that, but – trust me.” I had the distinct feeling she was toying with me, enjoying making me feel this uncomfortable.
Seconds later the matter was no longer up for dispute anyway. Stepping down from the toilet seat she quickly hitched up my skirt and took hold of the waistband of my panties. I tried to stop her, but she pressed herself against me, meaning that my hands merely slipped ineffectively around her waist. She pulled my knickers down, kneeling down in front of me to make sure that I stepped out of them.
That was the point at which we became aware we were not alone.
There was a rather sheepish looking middle-aged man in the middle of the toilet, staring into our cubicle. He looked surprised – how did he think I felt? The hottest looking girl I had ever met was kneeling down in front of me, her face just inches from what I would have to say was my fairly aroused pussy, taking off my underwear whilst holding my dress up. Her skirt was around her waist and her incredible peach of a bum on full display. Jodie let him look for a moment, the reached out and slammed the door firmly shut.
“Pervert!” she screamed, giggling. The problem was that at this point I was as distracted as I could have been, and she used that lapse to make sure my pants were off. She snatched them up from the floor and brandished them under my nose, laughing. I imagined what the face of someone who was not dying from embarrassment looked like, then tried to pull the same face. She stretched them out in front of me, admiring them.
“Well, I was right, these are absolutely gorgeous! Very small as well, I imagine that whoever was supposed to take these off tonight – before you met me – was going to be a very lucky boy indeed!” Quickly, she slipped out of her pearl thong and stepped into my panties. I cold see she was completely shaven. Dropping down again, she held the thong out to step into. Gingerly, and seeing little point in arguing, I did as bidden and stepped into them.
She mad a great fuss of pulling them up, complimenting me on being very neat and well-trimmed. She pulled the thong all the way up, so high that the pearls pressed against my clitoris immediately. I could see why she wore them. Slipping her arms around my waist, she pulled me close and then dug her fingers into my bum.
“Come on,” she grinned, “let’s finish our drinks and go somewhere a little more lively!”
Walking back to the bar was an experience in itself. The constant rubbing against a clit that just lately needed little invitation to get excited gave rise to feelings I didn’t know I could have – and all I was doing was walking across a wooden floor. When we took to the streets and I had to walk across the cobbles near the University, I could no longer hear what Jodie was saying or walk without taking her arm. All I knew was that I felt like I was about to orgasm, and it would not be quietly.
Something else that was not quiet was the preaching voice of everyone’s favourite vagrant. How is it that he always shows up, right when you need him least? There he is, sitting in the gutter, leaning against a lamp-post not ten feet in front of us.
“Though you may walk in the shoes of another, or fool the masses with a show of false intentions, be true to thyself, sinful woman! Read Psalm thirty, verse eleven!”
See what I mean? Just when you’re feeling most guilty, up pops Jeremy, Jeremiah, whatever his name, to make you feel even worse. Leaning against Jodie I scrounged through my purse, in order to leave him some coins in exchange for this wisdom.
It occurred to me that we were walking away from the main infestation of bars. I tried to mutter something about it, but words and syllables were now foreign concepts to my brain. This was clearly a feeling known well to Jodie, because she just kept laughing and made sure I had her arm for support.
Finally, the rubbing stopped and I could breathe again. Leaning on some railings for support, I realised Jodie’s face was being illuminated by a large neon sign. There was only one place on the trajectory in which we’d been heading that had a large neon sign, railings, and door staff like the large man in the tuxedo who was trying to explain to me that tonight was amateur night so ladies were allowed in for free.
Once we were inside the ‘gentlemen’s club’, as it was euphemistically called, we were shown to a table at the very front, in the right angle formed by the main stage and the runway. A female waitress in a bikini top and denim hot pants brought over a bottle of wine at Jodie’s bidding. As I looked around, I saw that there was a number of supermodel wannabees walking around in their underwear. I tugged in Jodie’s arm and pointed to one of them.
“Haven’t you ever been here before?” she asked earnestly. “It’s a lap-dancing club. The girls in knickers all work here. They’ll take you into the back and give you a private dance. Every so often one of them will get up and dance on the stage here, which I assume is what we’re all sat about waiting for.” Up until now, I didn’t think of myself as that naïve, but tonight was certainly opening my eyes.
There was music in the background, but no one on the runway. I peered through the haze caused by the darkness, spotlights, smoke, and near-orgasm, and could see that the club was about three-quarters full, and I think ours was the only table populated solely by women. I could see a couple of women, but they were all sat with men, generally in couples.
Then a coloured MC is a tuxedo took to the stage, announcing the arrival of someone called Princess. There was a raucous round of applause, which, given that the newly introduced lap-dancing faux royalty was just a little bit of a minger, meant that everyone was probably d***k. Or high. I caught sight of the drinks menu and noted with disdain the number of drinks that cost less than a tenner each, and assumed most of the clientele must be high, because it would be just that much cheaper.
Princess had cheaply-dyed black hair and sequinned underwear. Crucially, she had a chest that might just have fit into a FF bra cup, so conceivably this might have been the cause of the rapturous welcome. For three minutes, she gyrated gamely, removing her bra halfway through and guaranteeing further cheers. Watching Jodie’s face, I could see that she was less than impressed with the buxom young lady in front of us, and even I had to admit that there wasn’t anything particular sexy about her; she just, well, she just sort of jiggled up and down, making her boobs shimmy. The male portion of the audience loved it, and whenever she approached any of them, she came away with a waistband full of folded notes. It made me feel a little strange; you’d think the girls would be self-conscious, walking about in boudoir lingerie, but they all seem to love the attention. Again I felt like an unintentional voyeur, even though the voyees were parading about in front of me.
There was something about the look on Jodie’s face when the music died down that caused me to feel nervous. I don’t know how to explain what it was, but she was looking around the place as though searching for someone. Suddenly she rose, saying she was going for a drink. I was a little surprised, seeing as we still had half a bottle of wine in front of us, the place had waitress service, and she’d left her bag on the table. When she did come back she had no drink with her – just a grin, which went almost no way to making me feel better. However, the bikini-ed waitress came back and was carrying a bottle of champagne, good stuff too, no cheap own brand rubbish. Jodie beamed as she poured out two glasses and passed one to me.
“Here’s to a good night!” she said, clinking the glasses together.
“How did you get a free bottle of champagne out of this place?” I asked, not unfairly.
“I had a word with the manager! Basically, I said that the last dancer was rubbish, and what did a girl have to do to get a free drink and a good time out of this club?”
As it turned out, it wasn’t a rhetorical question. Moments later, a different girl was by our table, and Jodie was asking me to look after her bag and telling me she’d only be five minutes. I looked on helplessly as she stood up and sashayed away on the arm of the newcomer. Was it right that I should actually feel a sudden belt-lick of jealousy as I watched her disappear into the dark at the back of the stage? At that, it suddenly struck me where Jodie was heading…
Suddenly, the background music dropped off, and I heard the MC announce that the next dancer was about to take the stage. Suddenly panicking, and feeling like a Christian at the circus waiting to see what would come from behind the iron gate, I held my breath and waited for the inevitable. Jodie’s was announced as the next dancer.
The curtains parted. She stood there with her right hand on her hip, left arm down by her side, all her weight on her right foot, seeming effortlessly to appear assertive and in control. Perhaps it was because she was still dressed, whereas the Princess had started off in just her skimpies. Had that been me, I would have been thankful for the spotlight, because it meant I could see very little of the crowd, but in the limited time I’d had to get to know Jodie, I didn’t think she’d be quite as worried as me.
As the music started, she took several steps forward in time, like a catwalk model, deliberately emphasising the swing in her hips. She smiled as she glanced from left to right. They applauded her extravagantly, and there were some whistles, which considering her appearance was hardly a surprise. When she reached the front of the stage, she stood and smiled at the crowd for a moment, then spun round and made her way back to the chair. It was a dinner table type chair, high backed. She sat on it, crossed her legs and smiled demurely for the audience, before spinning to her left. Putting one her left foot down on the floor, she stretched her other leg out in front as she took hold of the back of the chair with one hand and leaned back. As she did so, her tiny denim skirt rode up, revealing my knickers! Still leaning back, she brought her right hand up to her face, and then slowly ran it down her neck and over her body, cupping her right breast for a moment. She arched her right leg up, running her hand over her exposed thigh.
Jodie rocked forward and sat upright quickly, body swaying slightly in time with the music. Rising to her feet she turned quickly, bending over so that the palms of her hands were flat against the seat of the chair. Further wolf-whistles and cheers were elicited from the crowd as she wiggled her bum in time to the music. She held that pose for a moment, allowing the crowd to take in the tight curves of her bum, and the length of her legs. Jodie was one lucky girl with long legs, and in high heels they were greatly accentuated.
I watched intently as she put her knee on the chair, and then brought the other up too so she was kneeling on the chair, her left side to the audience. She arched her back and ran her fingers through her hair, stretching it out behind her and allowing it to fall. Standing up, she placed one hand on the back of the chair and walked round it in a coquettish and teasing manner, looking down, her face hidden from the crowd by her hair. She dragged it around so that the back of the chair was to the left of the stage, then on the next circuit she sat down with her back to the crowd. Using her left hand as support, she suddenly leant right back as far as she could, so that she was now looking at the crowd upside down. More cheering, as now her firm breasts could be seen very clearly down the top of her tight top. Again she ran her free hand down her body, this time parting her legs and allowing herself a quick rub over the material of my knickers.
She stood up again, and, turning her back to the audience, stood astride the chair with her legs apart. Swaying to the music with head bowed, she raised her arms behind her back and, agonisingly slowly, dragged the zipper of her corset top down, millimetres at a time. The cheering and applause increased with every little tug, until the zip was fully down. Stretching the moment of disrobing out, she swung the chair out from between her legs, and again walked around it a couple of times, praying frantically that her top would not slide down before she was ready. Sitting backwards astride the chair, again with her back to the audience, she gently slid down one strap at a time until her top was dangling free from the fingers of one hand but all the crowd could see was her back and her white bra strap.
Rising quickly, still facing away from the audience, Jodie snapped her legs together. Fingers working deftly at the fastening of her micro-skirt, she wiggled her bum and with no further prompting the tiny slip of denim slid over her hips and gently down to the floor, drawing a huge ovation from the crowd. She leant forward over the chair, swaying her bum in time to the music, aware that as she was only wearing the flimsiest of lacy knickers (my lacy knickers!) her bum would look more or less naked to the crowd. She held that pose for several seconds.
Jodie stood up again and turned, coyly, to face the crowd, smiling serenely from under her fringe. The crowd loved her, and she was quickly warming to her task. She been holding her arms folded over her chest but now she moved them, slowing for the first time the full view of her gorgeous, lacy white bra. With head down and her hands behind her back, she wandered forwards towards the crowd and the edge of the stage like a shy schoolgirl, the opposite of the brazen performer she had looked at the start of her dance. When she reached the edge of the stage, she stood for a moment, whilst men started to thrust folded notes at her. She turned her back on the crowd and wiggled her bum at them, while the braver souls risked the wrath of the security men by reaching up to tuck notes into the waistband of her knickers. From where I was sitting, I could see that some of them were trying to stuff her underwear with twenties and fifties! With tips like that, I think that even I might have been tempted to have a go.
She danced to the middle of the stage, dropping the money she had collected already onto the pile of discarded clothing. Dropping gracefully to her knees, then onto all fours, she started to crawl towards the crowd again in a feminine and feline way, looking from side to side for a target. On the opposite side of the stage Jodie a-spied a middle-aged man sat with a wife, or lady friend, or maybe even secretary, of similar age. He was probably twice Jodie’s age, but he was definitely very good looking, and I think all girls must have a weakness for men in expensive suits – it’s practically mandatory. She made her way towards him, smiling and yet making growling noises. She leaned in towards him, until she could smell his cologne. He looked slightly uncomfortable and yet excited. His companion beamed at Jodie broadly, and clapped. Jodie shook her hair in the man’s face, and she heard him sniffing her hair, breathing her scent in. He reached up and tucked two folded bills into her waistband, his hand lingering over her bottom as he slowly withdrew it.
Jodie knelt back, then one leg at a time swung them out from underneath her, until she was sat on her bottom with her legs wide open. She was facing the man’s wife directly. I watched as the woman looked deep into Jodie’s eyes, then ran her stare down her body, taking in the modest but firm breasts, flat stomach, and long legs. The woman reached out a hand and I could see there was money in it, so Jodie thrust her groin forward at the woman. The woman responded by pulling open Jodie’s knickers at the front with her free hand, and when I looked closely I could see she’d pried them open at the gusset, rather than the waistband. At that moment, Jodie’s beautiful shaven pussy was on display, although only the woman, her husband, and Jodie herself could see it. The woman took her hand away slowly, smiling all the time.
Jodie rolled over until she was on all fours, then made her way across the stage towards me. Taking some notes from my purse I waved towards her, at which she turned broadside and presented me with her bum, so I could tuck the notes in. I did just that, and then gave Jodie’s bum a playfully hard slap, evincing a surprised yelp from Jodie, which the crowd loved. Grinning, she turned to face me and advanced slowly on all fours. She beckoned me closer with a gesture, looking as though she wanted to say something to me. As I leant in, she grabbed a handful of my hair, dragging my face closer to hers. Her eyes closed and her lips sought mine. I was so surprised it never even occurred to me to close my eyes! Jodie pushed her tongue gently into her my mouth, and with little option I responded likewise. Her kiss was soft but purposeful, and I let her direct the kiss at her pace. The first time I’d ever kissed a woman, and it had to be in public, wearing lingerie guaranteed to bring on an orgasm just through crossing my legs. Jodie seemed to make a great show of the tongue play for the crowd close enough to see it.
Breaking away, Jodie spun round and knelt up with her back to me. She leant back, and I realised with a start that she wanted me to undo her strapless bra. I was nervous and fumbled the clasp, which had the effect of dragging it out, so it seemed like forever until the straps slipped forwards and down Jodie’s arms. She went back onto all fours and turned to face the audience so her breasts were hanging below her. She swayed from side to side, making her breasts move in time to the music, as the crowd went mad.
Making her way back over to the married couple, Jodie again arranged herself so that she was sat on her bum, legs wide open, in front of the woman. Jodie reached out and took the tall glass of champagne from the sharp-suited man, and took a small sip before handing it to the wife. The woman knew instantly what she was to do with it, and as Jodie settled with her head tiled right back, the woman slowly poured the ice cold champagne over Jodie’s breasts, making sure that there was enough left to pour into her panties. The crowd whooped and hollered as the champagne trickled down Jodie’s body, sparkling under the multi-coloured lights. Hooking a thumb into the side of her panties, she dragged them down just enough so that when she returned to the upright sitting position, they were not trapped under her. The woman was again quick to take her cue as Jodie snapped her legs shut. The woman reached forwards and very slowly pulled Jodie’s knickers off, as the crowd applauded wildly.
Jodie stood up, naked apart from her high heels, whilst the front of her body was wet from the champagne. She walked back towards the pole in the centre of the stage, and, wrapping her right hand loosely around it, swayed round the pole several times before finally taking hold of it with both hands high above her head. Placing her back against the pole with her arms still above her head, she slid down it, never taking her eyes off the audience.
Standing up again, Jodie took hold of the pole with both hands and swung round vigorously a couple of times to work up some momentum. She wrapped her right leg around it then lifted her left leg from the floor, continuing to spin around it but sliding slowly to the floor until she was on her knees. Positioning the pole so that it was between her bum cheeks she rubbed up against it, before raising herself to her feet. Again she turned her back to the crowd and swung around lazily a couple of times, never looking at the crowd. She raised one leg high above her head and pressed it against the pole, so that the hot pink of her labia was clearly visible to the front rows. Letting her leg lower slowly and using the pole as support she leaned right over backwards.
She performed some high kicks against the pole, exposing her vagina time and time again to those lucky enough to be close enough to see. She spun around the pole again, working up some speed so that she was spinning fast, then raised both legs from the floors and allowed herself to swing round and slowly sink lower. When her knees landed gently in the floor, she drew herself closer to the pole, until the cold, polished metal came into contact with her clitoris. I could hear her gasp audibly, and I as well as the other women in the front rows guessed exactly why. Slowly, she started to raise and lower her groin against the pole, never allowing it to break contact with her clitoris.
Quickly, the thrusts quickened in pace and pressure, and as the song she was performing to approached its climax, she knew her time on the stage was coming to an end. She leaned back and with one hand on the floor and one hand on the pole, frantically rubbed herself up and down the pole, to the mounting cheers of the enraptured audience. As the song reached its crescendo Jodie reached her climax, her screams and gasps audible even over the music, drawing wild cheers from the audience. She collapsed backwards, naked and prostrate on the stage, as the crowd went delirious.
The MC helped her to her feet, and over the ovation I heard him say something about the best ever performance. She looked out of breath but glowing, and as I caught her eye she winked at me. I smiled back, secretly proud that my new-found friend had out-done the supposed professional. Letting go of Jodie’s hand, the MC clapped and started off another round of applause. One of the other dancers appeared at the back of the stage, motioning for Jodie to join her. She took one step in that direction but then stopped, looked at me, and smiled again before climbing down off the stage and taking her place beside me, still naked and glistening from the champagne shower. A couple of people nearby leaned over to pat her on the back or arm and say well done.
“Oh my God,” she whispered, “I don’t think I’ve ever come quite like that in my life!”
“I’m not surprised! You were brilliant, have you done that before?”
“No, but I think I might be a born show-off! I was surprised quite how horny it makes you, just being up there, with people looking at you. I’m more used to being out of the gaze and behind the camera, but I can see now quite why some people are so keen to have a go. It’s incredible! Where’s my drink?” She guzzled down the remainder of her glass, then topped it up and emptied it again. She was still breathing deeply, and I think the drink must have done very little to calm her adrenalin-driven mood. Pausing for breath, she looked around the club, seemingly unconcerned that she was still naked. The discarded clothes had been cleared from the stage, but Jodie seemed to show little concern for retrieving them. Suddenly, we were interrupted by the club’s manager.
“Jodie, Jodie, you’re a superstar! Honestly, a bona-fide superstar. You want a job here?” He said, cigar smoke drifting from the corners of his mouth. She shook her head, laughing.
“Well, you ever want a job, you come back here, and I’ll make you my star girl. You’ll make us both rich! Becky’s collected your clothes and your tips up, they’re in the changing room at the back, I’ll send her through to show you where it is.” He paused to draw on her cigar, pensive. “There’s no way that I can convince you to come and work for me?” Jodie picked up her glass and sipped from it.
“No, I don’t want a job,” she said, pausing for one more sip, “but I’ll have another go tonight.” The manager guffawed roughly and clapped twice, but Jodie wasn’t done. “In fact, both of us will have a go.”
The sound you hear is my bottom jaw hitting the expensive, glass topped table. Luckily it rebounded up fast enough for me to start protesting, but Jodie pressed two fingers to my lips to silence me first.
“Caitlin and I will do you a little show. Ask the DJ to find something slow and sexy for us!” At that, the manager left us alone. I swear he was rubbing his hands together.
“There – is – no – way – I – am – going – up – there!” I enunciated each word clearly and definitely so there would be no misinterpretation. To be fair to Jodie, I couldn’t accuse her of misinterpreting my intentions, because she didn’t even bother stopping to listen to me.
“Listen, you don’t have to do anything. We’ll go up there, dance a little for them, then you sit on the chair and I’ll lap dance for you.”
“You don’t have to do anything once you’re sat down, just try to look as though you’re not falling asl**p and we’ll make a mint out of them!”
“It’s an absolute cakewalk, and to be honest you can’t even see anything once the lights are on you, certainly not past the first couple of rows anyway. There are speakers around the front of the stage so you can’t hear anything that the crowd say. You’ll love it, really, it’s such a buzz! You ready?”
“Excellent. Come on then!” She dragged me out of my chair and we wound our way through to the backstage area. I couldn’t believe Jodie, she’d been naked for the last five minutes and never looked bothered by it once. Were we that d***k? At that moment I couldn’t ever recall feeling so sober, or so scared. The blonde girl who seemed to work backstage appeared before us, pointing the way. She smiled at Jodie, and grabbed my hand as I passed, giving it an encouraging squeeze as she leant in to my ear.
“Just let her direct, she’s a natural. Follow her lead, do whatever she tells you, and you’ll be fine. And enjoy yourself!” She patted my bum as our names boomed out over the PA and Jodie lead me onto the stage.
She was certainly right about the lights. I had to squint until my eyes became acclimatized to the glare, and I wish my ears could do the same against the relentless, grinding bass from the stage’s monitor speakers. Almost like the proverbial rabbit, I froze in the spinning, multi-coloured spotlights.
Sensing my unease, Jodie quickly slipped behind me and, putting her hands on my hips, she pulled my bum backwards towards her. Through this I picked up the rhythm of her dancing quickly, and was soon swaying backwards and forwards with her. Tame, as far as the audience was concerned, but far more erotic than I’d ever been with a woman before tonight! I think Jodie could tell I was starting to feel a little more comfortable, because she slipped a hand around my waist and left it resting there. She could take a little more control from that, and of course, regulate exactly how much the pearl thong rubbed me up! As we swayed backwards and forwards the pearls flicked backwards and forwards over my little pearl, and soon I was closing my eyes and biting my lip to try and focus on something else.
Now she had both arms around me, squeezing me tight, and at times licking my neck and nibbling my ears. I could feel her breath on me too, and I think the combination of all these things is what caused me to not notice that one of her hands was now massaging my breast, the ball of her thumb rolling my nipple back and forth. The feel of her hand was surprisingly erotic, more than I had anticipated another woman’s touch would be, and the increased volume level from the audience seemed to bear witness to the fact that they felt the same way.
I could feel her kissing my neck again, the tip of her tongue flicking hither and thither. With my eyes closed I rolled my head back until it was almost resting on her shoulder and then, just as I was at my most distracted, she struck. Her hands slid the spaghetti straps of my dress down, causing it to slide and perch precariously, snagged only by the material of my bra. I heard her hiss something about it being okay and not panicking, and I managed to get hold of myself quickly and look like I wasn’t dying of nervousness. I tried to protest, say no, anything to do things on my terms. It wasn’t my plan to be up on this stage, putting on a show with another woman, and I wasn’t really that comfortable with it. I closed my eyes to try and block the crowd out, just still myself a little. At that Jodie gave a little tug on my dress, which sent it sliding down to my waist, where she caught it to stop it sliding to the floor. My bra was exposed to the crowd; given that it was such a tiny cup, so were most of my breasts.
My breathing was becoming more and more erratic, and my ‘dancing’ less and less syncopated with Jodie’s. My heart was hammering. We weren’t really dancing at this point, just her grinding against me, doubtless trying to cause the pearl thong to send me spiralling towards the big O. She whispered to me that she was going to pull my dress down, and I whispered ‘please, no’ over and over. She was pulling gently at it while I used an arm to hold it in place. Why didn’t she understand that I wasn’t read? This was going way too far, and yet I knew I was going to lose this particular battle. Changing tack, she ran her hands over my arms and took hold of my wrists. Quickly lifting my arms over my head meant that there was only the pressure of her pressing against my bum to hold my dress in place. A moment later it was on the floor, and the crowd were at their most voluble yet.
Actually, I think it was at this point that I became the most aware of the crowd that I had been so far. The lights had spun round to blues and greens, less harsh and intense than the bright reds and yellows, and for the first time I could actually make out individual faces. Their expressions, I couldn’t believe just how intensely they were looking at us. When they weren’t cheering, they were just enraptured, enthralled, and I realised quite why Jodie had been so blown away, so oblivious to her nakedness when she came back. Just the feeling that they wanted us, that they could not get enough of our bodies – it was power beyond anything else I had known up until that point.
Jodie was then in front of me, her hands on my hips, pushing me backwards. She was guiding me towards the chair in the centre of the stage, and I allowed myself to be propelled towards it. I had the impression that Jodie was getting just a little bit too intoxicated at the notion of putting on a show, and I was surprised to discover I felt the first stirrings of competitiveness – after all, there were two of us on that stage!
Once I was seated, Jodie danced around behind me. She bent over and slid her hands from my shoulders down my front, straight over my boobs (and my rapidly hardening nipples) and down to my tummy. Again she was kissing my neck, nibbling my ears, and I think at that point I started to make whimpering noises, partly for show, partly because I was starting to enjoy myself! Jodie seemed a little taken aback at this outward expression of enjoyment. She brought her hands back up to my chest and started rubbing my boobs in earnest. It was nice, and I liked it, so I just let her get on with it – what else was I supposed to do? My nipples were about as hard as I could ever remember them being, and for a moment when I remembered where I was and what I was doing my initial prudishness threatened to re-surface. I needed to do something to get back into the groove-
Suddenly Jodie pulled the cups of my bra down, causing my boobs to spring free, although they were still hidden under her hands. The feeling of her palms directly on my skin was a little more intense than when there was a thin layer of silk acting as go-between. She started rubbing and started rolling my nipples in sync between her thumb and forefinger, not just rolling them but squeezing them just enough to hurt but still feel nice – a completely foreign idea to me! That something could hurt and yet still feel nice, just the thought of it was amazing. Sex hadn’t hurt me at all since my wedding night – and that wasn’t in a good way – and I made a mental memo to talk to her about it later.
Leaning forward, Jodie whispered that she wanted to take my bra off. There seemed little point arguing, seeing as the audience had already seen most of what I had to offer. She unhooked me, grinning, and swept the straps gracefully down my arms, sending my bra sk**ding across the stage. She stood back a moment to let me enjoy the adulation, the cheering, just the feeling that seemed tangible as it swept forward from the audience. For my part I tried not to screw my eyes tight shut! You shouldn’t underestimate what I was doing at this point – it’s not like I’d even sunbathed topless in a foreign country before. Before this week the only people that had seen my breasts (since puberty at least) I had either been involved with or was receiving medical attention from. I know I thought more than once that this was just incredible, and that I ought to do it again some time, but I’d like to think that that was just the champagne talking.
Jodie spun round and posited herself firmly in my lap, leaning back against me so her lips were just an inch or so from mine. Slowly at first but gaining in speed, she started to grind against me, causing further ructions in my groin as the pearls bit against my clit. Except, now I was completely at her mercy because I couldn’t move – she was pressing her heels into the ground to create thrust, so I was pinned in. Bitch, she knew that and just grinned at me! As the pressure increased, so did the bl**d flow to my poor little clitty. Holding my breath and trying not to scream, I dug held the edge of the seat so tight my fingers hurt and waited for the-
And then she was off again, dancing around the back of the chair. Demanding the return of her touch and wanting my orgasm, I looked pleadingly at her. She smiled back with a frustratingly innocent grin – as though she didn’t know what I wanted – and danced away suggestively. At this point I was sure I was whimpering!
Coyly, softly, she sat herself on my lap. Our eyes met and we grinned at each other, me holding my breath, her holding my breasts. We kissed again, better than before, not that there was anything wrong with the first one, but this one had something extra. It wasn’t passion, it wasn’t lust, but it might well have been affection. She sensed it too, because she squeezed closer up to me, curling my hair into her fist and pulling me into her. Our tongues moved as one, a mutual dance of delight that left my heart thundering inside my ribs. Oblivious now to the crowd, there was just a chair, a spotlight and us.
Using my hair to pull my head back, she started working her way down my neck with sweet kisses. Almost without me noticing she was down to my breasts, squeezing them, sucking the nipples between her lips, as if they could have been any more aroused. With breathtaking subtlety she was on her knees between my legs with her lips on my tummy. Any pretence at a dance was long gone, and once her kisses reached the knicker line of my – sorry, of her thong – I was starting to get a) a little worried about how this was going to finish, and b) rather more aware of the crowd than I had been for the last few minutes. Dancing topless was one thing – lesbian kisses were quite another – but to have a girl go down on me in public might be going just a little bit too far.
Maybe Jodie thought that too, because in the space of a moment she’d stood up and was pulling me to her feet. Then we were dancing again, just as suggestively as before if not more so. Jodie’s leg was between mine and the way we were dancing meant that the pressure from her thigh brought the pearl thong back into contact with my little button – and boy was it pressing hard! This time I was determined to get there, crowd or no crowd. I put my arms around Jodie’s waist, then moved them onto her bum cheeks. Then, to safeguard my orgasm, I dug my fingernails into her bum! That cute little squeal again, so innocent and girlish in nature. My turn to smile wickedly! She knew what I was trying to do, and this time, rather than thwart me, she decided to aid me.
As the record built to a crescendo, our hips in time with rhythm, our lips met again. There was no pretence this time, just heat, actual a****l passion. I knew this song, and I knew that there were just a couple of choruses left. Keeping the rhythm the same but just increasing the pressure, I screwed my eyes shut tight and went for it, letting the waves of pleasure flood over me.
When the darkness cleared and the stars stopped spinning I was sitting on the chair, with a worm’s eye view of Jodie’s bum as she bowed for the crowd. I couldn’t see a great deal beyond her because at this angle in particular the lighting dazzled me, but there was absolutely no doubting the reception that our little show was receiving.
The blonde girl – Becky? – helped me to me feet. It was at this stage, propped up between Becky and Jodie, that I became acutely aware that I was, to coin a phrase, grinning like the proverbial loon. I wasn’t sure where I was being taken, but once I felt the comfort of a rickety old armchair beneath my bum I knew I was where I needed to be. Closing my eyes, I worked on steadying my breath while I tried not to feel overwhelmed by what we’d just done. What were the people out there thinking of us?
“Thanks!” I chirped, opening my eyes and taking the proffered champagne glass from Jodie. She too was breathing heavily and didn’t even bother with a glass, swigging straight from the black glass bottle. She too looked pleased with herself as she perched her bum on the arm of my chair.
“Enjoy that?” she asked. There was little I could do but smile back at her. I wasn’t really sure what was happening. At that stage, in that state of inebriation, that was pretty much all I knew! “I thought you were having a good time out there!”
“Any idea where our clothes are?” I asked, looking around me. Worryingly, there was nothing in sight apart Jodie’s pearl thong that I was still wearing (and which I was now thoroughly attached to – I mean, I was in love with the effect that it had on me, but at that point I was so bl**dy wet you couldn’t have peeled it off me!).
“What’s the rush to get dressed?” Jodie sighed, as she hoisted her legs around and slid from the arm of the chair down into my lap. Her arms slipped around my neck, and she smiled at me with eye-lashes fluttering seductively. “We could just sit here for a few minutes and finish our champagne. It’s not like there’s any-one here to disturb us…”
“Well, shouldn’t we be…” I couldn’t think how the rest of that argument went. I was already wondering how many Hail Marys were required to atone for what I’d already done tonight, and I didn’t want to get trapped in a private situation with Jodie. In front of a crowd she knew how far she could go. Back here there was just me and her, and she had a look on her face that made me worry.
Without warning she leaned forward and kissed me, and oh, was it a good kiss. A great kiss. The sort of kiss where your heart stops for a second, your brain becomes a blank, your lips miraculously moisten themselves… the sort of kiss that is, in short, indescribable. And – sorry chaps – it suddenly struck me that it was the sort of kiss that only two women can share. Men can kiss with incredible passion, and they can kiss with that hunger that suddenly transports you back to the time of the cavemen and you’re thinking in grunts and random syllables. I’d heard it said that if you wanted a kiss of such tenderness that would make even statues weep, it’s a truism that you must have another woman.
“Take it you’re not wanting these back just yet then?” came a cheeky London accent, accompanied by a loud crack as a bubblegum bubble cracked open. We looked round and there sat Becky, perched cockily on the edge of the manager’s shabby desk, holding a loose bundle which we took to be our clothes. She grinned at us. “Don’t let me get in your way!”
It didn’t seem like Jodie intended to let her. Ignoring the newcomer, Jodie turned back to me and we kissed again. There was something more about this