Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 Standing at the end of the pier, my head buried in your loose, white linen
shirt, you intrigue me with your tales of strippers.  I lick your clavicle
longingly.  You shudder leaning against the low wall----I feel you smile. I
am so curious about the women you watch, their sexuality, their moves,
their freedom to express themselves.  I want to be your stripper, your
private sex-slave dancer.

   It is so dark.  So quiet.  The lake breeze exhilarates me, makes me want
to wrap my legs around you as you weave your stories for me.  I pull my
head up off your broad chest to stare again at the pulsing blue-white light
across the narrow channel.  The light paints your rippling shirt an eerie,
electric blue and accentuates your bright gleaming eyes.  Eyes full of
mischief and longing, hungry for me even as you describe these amazing
women.  We are 1940s film stars in this wind and light.

   You brush a strand of hair from my face, kiss me slowly and deeply.  I
respond eagerly, trying to press every surface of my body to yours.  To
meld seamlessly, yet not be still, slightly undulating.  Your teeth graze
then bite my lips.  I do the same to you.

   I want to dance for you, strip for you, in this movie-glow.  On tiptoe I
nibble the bottom of your earlobe, caress your hair.  You respond with a
searching hand thrust in my partly unbuttoned blouse.  I inhale quickly,
then moan.  But the surprise show and teasing must begin.

   I step backwards, leaning forward to allow my blouse to gape open and my
large breasts to become more visible.  How I enjoy the pull of your eyes on
my breasts.  It seems you can will my nipples to be hard.  Or your gaze
does it.  You claim my nipples always go erect when I see you.  I lead you
by the hand back to our patio set on a fat grassy area near the rocky,
lonely shore.

   I sit you down on one of two kitchen chairs near the water's edge.  You
eye me quizzically, a wry, roguish smile on your lips.  I straddle you,
lean back slightly, then make a grand gesture of putting my hands on your
shoulders.  The wind ruffles my short, pleated skirt, tickling my belly.  I
roll my head back on my neck and slowly side to side as I arch my back,
thrusting my big bosom toward your face.  You bend forward to take a nipple
in your mouth and I lift your chin with my finger.

   "I want to be your stripper.  Pretend we are at a club.  You can't
touch."

   Your big glittering eyes go wider, then you beam and let me go.

   "Okay girlie, show me.  Show me what you've got.  Show me everything."

   I stand up, quickly turn my back to you and bend over.  Of course you
can't behave and you slap my ass.  HARD.  I yelp and turn around,
pretending to be angry.  Have you left a mark I wonder?  Man that hurt.

   I wag my finger at you.  "No more of that!"

   Lightning fast you lean forward: your hand goes up under my skirt, and a
finger hooks my lacy thong and so quickly begins to probe inside me.  I hop
away laughing to sit primly with legs crossed on the chair opposite you,
just out of reach.

   "Now, sit and stay there.  Or no show."

   With an exaggerated pout you say, "Yes ma'am."

   Mockingly you salute me, slouch, fold your arms.  So you intend to be a
critical, difficult audience do you?  I am ready for the challenge.  I know
you love my form, all the wonders of my body hidden for much of the day.  I
will make you melt and sizzle.  If only you can behave long enough to go
beyond arousal to a higher degree of lust.

   Carefully seated ever so slightly beyond your long arm's reach, I face
you with my head slightly bowed and my knees together.  I lean forward and
lock my eyes on yours, circling my lips with my tongue.  My heavy eyes
slowly stray downward to the growing bulge in your pants.  My fingertips
trace the edges of my thighs, moving upwards towards then over over my
hips, along the side of my torso.  Languidly I fully unbutton my blouse and
pull it to either side, fully exposing my chest.  I start to circle my tits
with my wrists.  My thumbs extend: they rub my nipples.  I smile, lean to
the side, suck one thumb then the other, and continue my rubbing.  Then I
grab my right breast, filling my hand.  I turn my head to the side and down
to suck on my nipple.  Slowly I pull that nipple out further with my teeth.


   Now I make a point of trying to establish eye contact with you, willing
myself to take my time.  You stare at my rock hard nipples, then my crotch.
You do not look at my face.

   I hope for an internal rhythm to give fluidity to my movement, willing
myself to proceed slowly.  The bluish light blinks, too far away to cast
its glow on us.  In my mind it is a stage light from the back of a dark
club.  I imagine a room full of men watching me, with you the closest one.
The one I secretly want.

   I pull my blouse down one arm then the next.  Over and over I remind
myself to tease.  It is so difficult not to give in to the overwhelming
desire to jump on your lap, ride you hard and thrust a nipple in your
mouth. Raising my arm high I deposit the shed clothing on the ground beside
my chair.

   You unzip your fly, pull out your penis, lick your palm and start to
jerk off.  I playfully kick towards your hand, arching my back to bring my
ass off the chair.  I spin around, finishing with my back to you.  Bending
down, I flop my head over the back of the chair, my hair flying, and thrust
my ass as far out as possible.  I go on my toes and start to circle my hips
in what I hope is an inviting, mesmerizing display.  I hear you shift in
your chair.

   I crane my hand to the side to peer at you, amazed, glad and surprised
that you have managed to stay in your seat.  I quickly squat down, grab my
thong with one hand, and look over my shoulder at you impishly.  Then just
as quickly I rise up, pulling the lace as far away from me as I can and
grinding my pelvis.  Squatting once more I pull the thong down to my
ankles. I demurely lift one foot then the other and kick the tiny thong to
the side.  Now I back up a little, then bend over, my head between my
slightly bent knees, looking at you upside down.  I lick my finger.  I
stroke my clitoris then guide my finger into my vagina, working in out and
out and around my clit over and over.  I lick my finger again and stick it
in my ass, inching in deeper and deeper.

   "That's it!" you cry out happily.

   I realize you never described a stripper doing this.  It was not in the
repertoire in my head.  I hope I've pleased you, offered you something
more, something different, something I know you'll like.

   You stand up, fully erect in more than one sense.  Your chair clatters
then falls over on its side.  Upside down I admire your humungous hard on.
In one long stride you stand right against me.  I can feel your belt buckle
against my right butt cheek as the tip of your penis prods the left one.

   You grab the wrist of the hand with a finger in my ass and say, "Now
this one in your mouth."

   I laugh.  "You lasted longer than I thought!"

   "Do it!" you order, and with another laugh I oblige.

   "Good girl," you murmur, working at your belt buckle.

   I turn around and stand to face you, sucking greedily on the finger on
my mouth.  Subtly I inch backwards, away from you.

   You grab my hair.  "Where are you going?"

   "To finish the strip tease."

   "You teased enough.  Now come here and get your reward."

   At that you put your hand on the top of my head to firmly push me down
to your huge, hard cock.  I look up at you, my lips parted, breathing
heavily.  I sink to my knees, lick around the tip while still looking up at
you, then take your massive penis in my mouth.  I will myself not to gag as
you press against the back of my head.  We get into a rhythm and I grab
tight onto your butt cheeks.  I hold onto the bottom of your shaft with one
hand and bring up enough saliva to make us both drip.

   After a few minutes my jaws feel sore.  I am determined to keep going.
We are both so incredibly turned on.  I work your pants down to your ankles
with my free hand then push myself against your leg, feeling your long shin
bone against my labia and clit.  I lap at your balls as I work my hand up
and down your stiff manhood, playfully popping your nuts in and out of my
cheeks.

   You pull me up to my feet and lean over to kiss me.  As we probe each
other's mouths with our tongues and play with our teeth, I start to push at
your torso and guide you to sit in my chair.  Once more I straddle you,
placing you inside me.  I am always amazed at your girth.  It seems
impossible that you could fit inside me without tearing me apart.  I feel
such incredible excitement as your head touches my labia and I slightly
rotate my hips to help you find entrance.

   "Ok now you can touch," I say in a singsong, kindergarten-teacher voice.

   You smile briefly to acknowledge the irony.  I unbutton your shirt to
nip and lap at your nipples.  You massage my buttocks and pulse your thighs
up and down, giving me a gentle ride.  I pull your shirt off your shoulders
to expose my favourite part, your biceps, moaning as I kiss and lightly
bite.  You tense the muscle for me, making me feel weak and powerful at
once.  I am so attracted to tall, strong men.  We have often said that you
are my tormentor and protector at the same time.

   "You're so wet.  You dirty little whore."

   I whisper in your ear before licking and biting it, "You're the biggest
whore I've ever known."

   "Oh yeah?"

   As if to show anger with my words you thrust far inside me and I writhe,
rising up and down, willing my inner muscles to contract and pull at you. I
ride you, bringing my foot up beside your butt on the chair for more
leverage.  I part my thighs wider.  It feels so lewd, so exhibitionist, so
pleasurable.  I imagine my audience of men in the strip club watching us go
at one another, calling out encouragement to you.  My act was no act, you
knew it was all for you.  So you came onto the stage and took me.

   Your fingers find my anus and I gasp in pleasure.  You spit on your
fingers and share this wetness inside me.  I pull off of your wet monument
of a cock and stand over your lap, thrusting a breast in your ever-willing
mouth as we gradually work your throbbing manhood into my backdoor.  Once
you are inside me again I lower myself down your pillar, pulling my nipple
from your mouth with a big smacking sound.  I guide your fingers to the top
of my clit to flick and play.  I rub my left nipple with my left hand,
sucking my fingers occasionally.  We kiss passionately here and there.

   We are the envy of all those men in the club.  They all want me.  They
want to touch me but are awed by the force of our coupling.  You gasp, you
moan.  I squirt and squirt from the exciting knowledge that I am making you
cum.  I did this.  Then you cum and cum, slumping against me and sighing.

   You surprise me by grabbing around my legs and standing, then lying down
on the grass with me sitting on top of you.

   "You know what I want baby."

   And I do.  I sit on my knees over your chest and squeeze out your
ejaculate juices.  I kiss you quickly, then kneel at one side of your torso
and lick up your cum.  I lie down beside you, spent.  You roll atop me,
kissing me, sharing in what you ask of me.

   Only you know what and how I want.