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Subject: The Gentlemen's Club  CaroleAT   Wife (M/M/F)
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The "Gentleman's" Club 
------------------------------------------------------------------------

     When I flirt and tease and flash men, it has nearly always
been in the context of accidentally letting strangers see me. Or for
the benefit of selected men with whom I've somehow become
comfortable enough to take the risks. And, of course, most of the
time, I've had John beside me to enjoy, encourage, and help me carry
out my plans. 

     John says he'd like me to take what he calls the "next step."
John thinks I should pursue the suggestion of one of the men -- Lee
actually -- I met on-line. His suggestion -- take off my clothes for a
crowd of strangers in a public place. He suggested performing at an
amateur night at what he calls a "gentleman's club." 

     I know I could never do this in our hometown -- the chance
of being seen by a colleague from work or the husband of one of our
couple friends (although most men in those groups have benefited
from my accidents) is too great for me to deal with. So John and I
visited one of these clubs, in another city, to check out how this
might work. 

     
Well. . .I Started The Evening Fully Clothed

     As we drove into the parking lot of the club early in the
evening I remember thinking that it didn't look quite as sleazy as I
had expected. I guess, in apprehension, I was expecting the worst.
John was pretty excited, of course, and had dressed me in some
pretty suggestive clothes. I thought I might be overdoing it for a
"scouting" trip.

     I was wearing a tight pink camisole with lace straps and a
panel of ivory lace that buttoned down the front - little buttons - and
it hugged my breasts so that my nipples were clearly outlined. And it
was short, leaving a ribbon of skin exposed above my waist. Over
this, I wore only a short jacket that, when buttoned, revealed a
tantalizing triangle of lace. When unbuttoned, it left me on view to
the world. I wore matching half slip and panties, of course, trimmed
in same ivory lace. And, of course, a lacy pink garter belt to hold my
stockings.

     My skirt was John's favorite. Short. Wrap-around. Or as John
calls it, my un-wrap-around skirt. When I move, or sit, or bend, or
stoop, or when the wind blows, or the moon is in Aries, or when
anyone wishes it so, it seems to fall open. John loves to see me
"un-wrapped." 

     "I not going to be performing tonight, you know," I told him,
"This trip is to check it out. I don't know if I can do this anyway."

     
He looked me up and down and said, "You know, regardless of our
reason for being there, most of the other people will be men who are
out to look at women. I want them to look at you, just like always.
And I'll bet that you get nearly as much attention as the women who
are taking their clothes off."

     I thought he might be right. When we entered the club, I
couldn't see any other women and all eyes watched us as we crossed
to a table near the back. The room and stage were both smaller than I
thought they'd be. Maybe a hundred seats, arranged at tables in a
horseshoe around the stage, two rows of regular tables and a row of
high tables around the outside edge. John had us sit just in front of
the high tables between them and the stage.  Two of the high tables 
were filled with men. 

At the table to our right was a pleasant looking man, about forty, by
himself. I sat in a chair that would give both him and the men behind
us a clear view of me. As I crossed my legs, I could sense pairs of
eyes all around me shifting my way, hear the chairs moving to give
their occupants a better angle. My skirt unwrapped -- of course --
enough to show the lace edge of my slip barely covering my garters,
the lace tops of my stockings quickly coming into view. I am amazed
that such a little show of lace can get so much attention. It always
does.

      I smiled slightly at the man to our right as I straightened my
skirt -- lifting it slightly in the process -- letting him know that I
caught him eyeing me. He smiled pleasantly and turned away
pretending that he was looking for something in the the dark corner
of the empty stage. 

     The stage was smaller than I had expected -- and closer to the
audience. Twenty-five feet wide at the curtain with a six foot runway
extending into the room, the stage was designed -- probably not by
accident -- for proximity viewing. Obviously the patrons here didn't
want to miss any aspect of the performances. The tables at the front
were attached to the edge of the runway -- men sitting there would
capture every subtlety.

     
	"What do you think so far?" John asked, running his hand up my leg,
re-un-wrapping. "You seem to be getting a lot of attention without
taking off one item of clothing."

     
	"I've noticed. That I am the only woman in the room might account
for some of that." And I knew that being the only woman in the room
-- a room full of voyeurs at that -- was making me feel pretty
powerful. "Watch this." 

     First Show For A Tough Crowd

      I stood and walked alone across the room to the bar, and pulled
myself onto one of the barstools, my jacket gapping open, my skirt
doing its thing, exposing leg and breast and garters and stocking in
repeated glimpses of lace as I moved. I leaned across the bar and
ordered drinks for John and me. He enjoys watching me strut for the
whole room. Over time I've learned to enjoy it, too.
     
"The whole room" included only a couple dozen men. It was still
early. Apparently the "amateur" night show was scheduled early, the
"pro's" performing later. Twenty minutes to showtime and the crowd
was thin. I wasn't going to waste them though.

     "Thanks," I said to the bartender, as I slid slowly off the
barstool toward the floor, turning away from him.
     
"No...thank YOU," he replied. I turned back to him, leaning back
over the bar opening my jacket a little further for him, giving him
what must have included a great view of my nipples barely covered
by the thin fabric of my camisole. 
     
"For what?" I asked grinning, laughing a little.

"Just...well...," he hesitated, thinking very hard. "Thanks for
sharing," he finally answered, looking me up and down approvingly,
proud of his original use of the overused phrase.

     I had to laugh. It WAS funny. I guess I was sharing more than
I thought. My skirt was hiked up enough to flash the lace tops of my
stockings just below the lace hem of my slip, now about the only
thing covering my legs at all. He had the best view in the room. "I'll
bet our customers are very glad to have you here." He giggled,
amused not awkward, smiled, shook his head and gave me a quiet
thumbs up. 

      I returned his smile, a little coy now, not bothering to cover
myself. "I'll want to see the manager after the show. Can you arrange
that?"
     
"Sure," he said, seeming to know what I needed to discuss. He
grinned knowingly as he said, "I'm sure he'll be happy to see you. I'll
send him over later."

     Back at the table, I handed John his drink and asked for the
report. "The report" is John's account to me of what the men
watching me were doing and saying. 
     
"It got awfully quiet back here," John reported. "I was busy watching
you too, but obviously so was everyone else. When you slid off the
barstool, one of the men behind us say 'Jesus, I've died and gone to
heaven'."
     
"Not particularly original...but a very nice thought, don't you think?"
     
"I couldn't agree with him more," was John's sweet reply.

     During the next few minutes, the room began to fill. Arriving
early for "amateur" night was obviously not standard here. I noticed
that the man to our right was gone for few minutes -- my audience
doesn't usually wander off -- and was a little surprised when the
bartender walked to our table with fresh drinks for both of us.
     
Practicing On A New Friend
     
"From the gentleman at the end of the bar," he said, looking at my
eyes.
   
We looked up and it was our neighbor. We raised our glasses in
thanks and I looked to John for guidance.
     
"Whatever you want to do," was all he said.

     I rose and walked to the bar again. The room quieted again,
but the crowd had grown and I couldn't command exclusive attention
anymore. As I approached our benefactor, I unbottoned my jacket,
letting it fall open. I was close enough to him now that he was one of
the few who got to appreciate the full view of my breasts straining
against the smooth, thin material, my nipples now barely covered,
the skin from my throat to my waist now visible through the
transparent ivory lace held closed by only a fragile row of tiny
buttons. His eyes for some reason seemed glued to the naked stretch
of skin above my skirt.

      I extended my hand, "Hi, I'm Susan. It was very nice of you to
send us drinks. Would you like to join us?"
     
"I'm Robert," shaking my hand. I think his knees were shaking too as
he tried to look me in the eye, but was just too mesmerized by the
widening opening of my jacket. "Sure...I'd love to join you. If you
don't think your husband will mind."

     "He'll mind if you don't," I said repeating my common
response to a common concern, as if letting him in on a secret. I
stepped closer to him and rested my hand on his hand, which was
gripping the bar ferociously. "And relax, Robert. If I didn't want you
to enjoy looking at me, I wouldn't have unbuttoned my jacket for
you."

     He smiled at that, took a long, loving look down my chest, and
offered me his arm for the trip back to our table. Slipping my arm
into his pulled my jacket aside further for the rest of the house. 

     "Robert, this is my husband, John. John, Robert...who really
seems to like my...uh...jacket," I said. John smiled and Robert
laughed nervously, trying to treat my observation as only a joke. "It's
O.K., Robert. Please sit, relax."

     
"Yes, please, Robert, relax. Why do you think I bring Susan to
places like this? It's hardly for the culture," John said, trying to
reassure the poor guy.

     
"You mean you don't mind other guys...uh...looking at your wife?"
Robert asked, a little disbelieving still. John just nodded. "Seems
strange to me," Robert continued, "but... I'm glad to oblige."

     We chatted amiably, Robert wanting to know all about our
"adventures in the skin game." We described some of the things I
had done, flashing other men, all the while pretending to ignore the
fact that I was flashing Robert as much as I could, given the public
setting. After a few minutes, the show was about to begin so we
arranged our chairs with me between the two men so that John could
easily slide his hand up my skirt when he wanted -- and so that
Robert could see this action as well as that on the stage. 

     The show was not long. Six women. Each doing five-ten
minute "dances." I'm not going to describe in detail what they did --
why draw too much attention to OTHER women undressing?
Enough to say that the show was...well...entertaining and
educational. 

     

The Lay Of The Land. . .So To Speak

     I wanted to learn what was expected here. Four of the women
used "stripper" costumes -- cowgirl, nurse, etc. -- that featured lots of
sequins, fancy g-strings, and handy velcro closures that un-closured
easily. The other two wore real people clothes and lingerie which
they removed while "acting out" a simple story. 

     
"I'm with them," John said.

     
"What do you mean?" I asked as I slipped John's hand from under
my skirt for the fourth or fifth time.

     
"Real women undressing is sexier than strippers stripping, don't you
think? If you performed here, that's what I'd want you to do," he
answered, slipping his hand up my leg, again, without hesitation.

     Robert took his eyes briefly off the stage to check out the
action next to him. "What are you two up to," he asked smiling down
at my legs. 

     
"John is telling me what he'd like me to do if I perform here," I
answered, ignoring his inspection of me. I turned toward him,
allowing John's hand to slip away to improve the view. "We are here
to check it out, to see if I'd like to strip for all these guys."

     
"I'd love to see that," Robert blurted out, already heedless of John's
possible reaction. "You'd look great up there."

     I elaborately lifted my skirt, ostensibly to straighten it,
revealing my thighs to the top of my garters, my slip having crept up
to nearly my waist. As I closed the folds of my skirt over my legs, I
said to Robert, in a surprisingly seductive tone, "Don't you think
you've seen enough of me already?"

     
"Yes," I heard John say as he took my hand turning him back to him,
"But we'd like to see you taking off your clothes for all of us. Right,
Robert? Something delicious about your giving yourself that way."

      thought about the girls we'd been watching. And what they'd
been doing. All of them had removed their bras -- obviously naked
breasts were a required, or at least expected, part of the act. Only two
had removed their g-strings or panties -- getting completely naked
seemed to be optional. Two had danced close to the edge of the
stage, stooping low to collect tips in their g-strings and bras from the
men close to the stage.

     I wondered just how much of this I could do. Many men had
seen me in my lingerie and had enjoyed watching me undress and a
few had even seen me nude. But none had seen me strip, in public,
for a crowd of strangers. None had stuffed money into my panties in
front of dozens of horny men. I had shown very few in my
"audiences" how much I enjoyed flashing, stripping and showing
myself. I began to question if I could do all this as brazenly as the
setting seemed to demand. 

     
The last dancer ended her show abruptly to appreciative applause.
The audience was more respectful than I had anticipated. They
seemed to be pulling for each performer, amateurs all, to do a good
job, to perform well, to -- not to put too fine a point on it -- get as
close to naked as possible before she chickened out. Obviously
breathing hard, issuing only a few lewd hoots at the girls, the men
here had not begun to drink much. One of the advantages of an early
show, I think.

     Before I could gather my thoughts and answer John's
question, a tall, slightly disreputable looking man walked over to our
table. He smiled, looking a little less fearsome, and said, "I'm Tim,
the manager. You wanted to see me?"

      was caught a little off-guard, but rallied to say, "Yes. Join
us?"

     "You want to talk about performing at amateur night?" he
asked, getting quickly to the point.

     
"You could tell?" I responded returning his smile.

     
"Come back to the office. We can talk about it."

     
Tim was tall, maybe 6 foot 2 or so. Not unhandsome, but clearly not
all that attractive. He was wearing a leather jacket (of course) and
tight chinos. Not much of a looker but he had a great butt.

     John and I followed him to the back of the club, behind our
table and down a hallway that obviously led to the restrooms. I
buttoned my jacket as we walked. Thirty feet later we turned into his
office.

     
Stripper central. The walls were filled with pictures of strippers
beaming down at us. Tim's furniture was old, but not too tacky, a
large wooden desk, empty except for a lamp on the corner,
dominated the far wall. A door to the right of the desk led
somewhere. Tim positioned himself behind the desk. 

     
After brief introductions, Tim, still standing, said, "Please, sit down."
And eyed me up and down as I did. "So you want to strip in my
club?" he asked as he sat down.

     "Well...I am not sure yet," I answered dropping my eyes. The
moment of decision was approaching and I had not really had a
chance to think about what I had been watching and considering. 

     
"What do you think about your wife doing this?" Tim asked John.

     
"I'd love to see her strip here...if she wants to," he said, turning to
me, waiting, patient.

      continued to avert my eyes, partly from indecision, partly
because John tells me this pose is really very coquettish, flirty.
Looking down, I saw my skirt opening slowly and just as slowly, I
crossed my legs to encourage it. It was what I needed. Without
prompting, at a moment of considerable awkwardness, I had
switched unconciously into flashing for this stranger.

     
Tim's Game Now

     
"O.K. Tell me how it all works," I said looking up suddenly and
facing Tim straight on.

     Tim explained the schedule, the "rules", the legal
requirements, and release forms. All pretty simple. We arranged a
date and a short time for "rehearsal" the afternoon of that day. He
scrawled on some forms, showed me where to sign, and I added my
signature -- bending low over his desk, of course. That was to prove
unnecessary.

     
"Great," Tim said, "Now show me what you've got."

     "Pardon me?"

     
"Susan," he paused. "Take off your clothes" 

     He spoke without hesitation or apology. His smile began to
look more like a leer. "You can't expect me to let you perform in my
club, if I don't know how you'll look to my customers."

     Sometimes these little surprises are the spice that makes
flashing really exciting. This was not one of those moments. I looked
to John, he stood and motioned me to follow him to the corner where
we could talk privately.

     
"If you are not interested..." Tim began.

     
"Just wait a minute, Tim," I answered. "I want to think about this."

     
"We can bail now if you want," John said quietly. "No harm done."

      didn't answer immediately, but finally looked up to John and
said, "If I can't do this, I can't expect to be able to strip onstage when
the time comes."

     "You know that this guy is pushing this to get his own private
little show. He probably gets off requiring women to undress for him
first, sort of like a medieval king deflowering the virgins on their
wedding nights," John said.

     
"I'm hardly a virgin," I replied, laughing a little at John's allusion. I
turned to Tim, sitting behind his throne...I mean...desk and said,
"O.K. Right here?"

     
"This is the place," was all he said. He rose, moved around the desk
and pulled its two chairs to the two sides of the small room. As he
returned to his chair behind the desk he gestured to the space he had
cleared at the center of the room. 

     "Your stage," he added.

     I glanced at John, now by the door and stepped to the center
of the room. My pulse was racing, my cheeks were burning and my
legs were barely holding me up. 

     I realized my nipples were erect and stretching the fabric of
my camisole tight across my breasts under my jacket. I was
beginning to feel a strange combination of humiliation and power,
realizing that I was acting under the control of a stranger who was
using me to get his jollys. I was really used to being in control. I
crossed over to John.

      whispered instructions to him. He left the room.

     I walked back toward Tim and said, "We'll have to wait for
John to come back. How about if I just stand here and you try to
decide if I'm good enough to be in your show."

     
"Your going to have to take off your clothes," Tim said, rising and
walking around the desk toward me. "I'm really going to have to see
more of you."

     
"I know, Tim. As soon as John comes back," I assured him. 

     Standing in front of me now, Tim hooked a finger over the
single button keeping my jacket closed. He pulled the jacket toward
him causing it to open a bit more than I thought I was ready for.
Looking down at the lace edging of my camisole he asked, "How
about a little preview. . .while we wait for John to come back?"

     Tim was obviously anxious to get me undressed and very
interested in having me all to himself, at least for a few minutes. I
knew John would be back in a short time. My tension from being
alone with Tim, from having his hands reaching for me, began to
turn from anxiety to anticipation. 

     "Why not?" I replied, trying to look him in the eye, "But just
my jacket for now."

     "Go ahead," he said, stepping back for a fuller view. "Take it
off."

     "If you want it off, why don't you take it off?" I said. In for a
dime, in for a dollar.

     "I'd be very glad to take off your clothes, Susan," he said
stepping back to me, reaching for the button of my jacket. "Maybe
you'd like me to take them all off before John returns."

     "Just the jacket, Tim. Don't get greedy," I said as he
unbuttoned the jacket and held it open in front of him.

     He gazed at my breasts, my nipples obviously erect, moved
his eyes over the lace, down the buttons holding my camisole barely
closed, finally resting his eyes on the bare skin just above my waist.
He let the jacket fall and reached his hands toward me and fingered
the lace at my naked midriff. The touch of the back of his fingers
was electric on my skin.

     He took his time inspecting me, subtly feeling my skin on the
backs of his hands, before he moved them to my sides. He moved his
hands up my sides, caressing the smooth fabric of my camisole, until
he reached my breasts. The palms of his hands brushed the sides of
my breasts as he made his way slowly to my shoulders.

     He hesitated with his hands on my shoulders, running his
eyes over me again, pulling the jacket open further. Finally he
pushed the jacket down my arms, pulling the left strap of my
camisole off my shoulder.

     My left breast was exposed now nearly to the nipple. I
reached to replace the strap.

     "I'm sorry," Tim said, almost sincerely, "Let me fix that."

     He reached under the small bit of fabric covering my nipple
and pulled it back into place. Both of us could feel the back of his
knuckles on my nipple. Only I could feel the charge that whipped
through my body.

     Tim smiled and walked behind me to retrieve the jacket and
toss it into a chair close by. He stood behind me now and put his
hand on my neck, massaging it a little, moving it down my back,
finally reaching again the bare skin above my waist. He ran the tips
of his fingers back and forth across my body for a moment and slid
his hand to my ass.

     He looked to see my reaction to this. I smiled a little and said,
"Well, how do you like it?"

     "You have a fabulous body Susan. I could play with it all
day" he said leaning into me, caressing my ass slowly and firmly.

     'No, Tim. You couldn't. But a short play time is OK, don't
you think?"

     I allowed Tim's touching, his owning me a little, his
inspecting me, watching his eyes with mine, trying to let him know
that he was not the only person in the room who was trying to take
control. I allowed him to touch me, inspect me, to think he owned
me, in order to show him that he didn't, that I didn't have to run from
his touch, that I could take the pleasure I wanted. Seconds later, John
returned. Tim retreated, staring into my eyes all the way, to behind
his desk.

     Robert was with John. I'd asked him to fetch Robert so I'd
have additional moral support. Robert was, obviously, only an
acquaintance, but I trusted him a lot more than anyone else in the
building, John excepted, of course.

     
He looked confused. John had not briefed him on his task. I took the
two steps to his side and spoke quietly. "I have to audition for the
manager. I wanted some moral support in addition to John." I then
smiled and added, "And I thought you might like to be my first
audience here."

     
"My pleasure," he said, glancing at Tim, with a hint of reassuring
suspicion. 

     
My Debut. . .Well. . .Professional Debut Anyway

     
John and Robert sat in the two chairs now at the right and left of my
"stage," the cleared area in front of Tim's desk. 

     "You ready?" I asked him.

     "It's time, Susan," was all he said.

     I unbuttoned my skirt and it fell away easily into my hand.
Tossing it aside, I realized I was still decently covered, by my
camisole and half slip. But that all three men were leaning forward,
concentrating on the sight before them. I also knew they could see
my nipples and the hard, clear line of my garters and the lace of my
panties through the sheer fabric of my lingerie and were waiting to
see more.

      reached down easily to the lace at the hem of my slip,
grasping it on either side of my knees. I lifted it slowly, revealing the
lace tops of my stockings, the hard lace line of my garters and the
white smooth skin of my thighs. I stopped raising it after a few
inches, leaving it draped in front just below my panties and looked
up.

      realized I'd taken my eyes off Tim and that wasn't part of the
plan. It didn't matter. His eyes were fixed on my legs, first surveying,
then waiting while I paused, and finally glancing up into mine as if
saying 'O.K. Go on.'

     I pulled the edge of the slip to my waist uncovering my
panties and the lacy tops of my garters. I bunched the slip at my
waist as fully as I could, all around my body, so that John and Robert
could see me on display, too.

     t felt dirty, flashing this way, under inspection by a man who
would approve or disapprove of my body, of my ability to show it
off, of just how sexy I looked. Standing there, frozen, holding my
slip at my waist to flash my panties at Tim, I felt, for the first time, a
twinge of humiliation, of how degrading and exploitive this situation
was. Playing with that feeling, rolling it around in my mind, as I held
this pose, made me realize how much I enjoyed it. But I couldn't
leave Tim in control, of course. Of John either for that matter. Time
to seize the initiative, I decided.

     I stepped toward Tim, my slip in my hands, the top of my
neatly trimmed pubic hair peaking through the lace panel of my
panties, my breasts straining against the thin material of my
camisole, and turned my back on him. My ass was now only a foot
from Tim's desk and I looked over my shoulder to see his reaction. 

      could see I looked good enough to tempt his hand toward
me. Without hesitating, I began to pull the bunched slip down over
my panties, bending at the waist to bring it to the floor. I could feel
the fabric of my panties stretch tight and smooth. I could feel the lace
outlining the curves of my body pulled taut, drawing attention to the
shape of my legs and ass. I could feel my garters stretch, pulling my
stockings up the back of my smooth, strong thighs. And I could feel
Tim stunned by how close, how forward, how determined my strip
had suddenly become. 

     
Bent to the floor, I stepped out of my slip, rose slowly and handed it
to Robert, who held it like a delicate prize. I straightened my panties
elaborately to give my audience the chance to see me touch myself a
little, running my hand over my ass to be sure I looked good in what
was left of my clothes.

     As I stepped to the center of the room once again, I saw Tim
sitting perfectly still, speechless, breathing heavy now. I began to
unbutton the few buttons that would free my breasts for him to
admire. I was rolling now. I took my time.

     
My breasts emerged as the snug fabric of my camisole opened in
front of me. I suddenly felt the lace still covering my nipples and a
charge ran through my body. I had been attending to the overall
situation so carefully, making sure I held Tim spellbound, that this
was the first moment I realized how completely aroused my body
had become. The roughness of the lace weakened my knees as my
movement made it caress my nipples, gently, like the light touch of a
hundred fingers. I maintained my composure by stepping toward the
chair Robert occupied.

     
Turning my back to him and gesturing with my shoulders slightly I
whispered, "Please" letting him know that I wanted him to remove
my camisole. He stood, pleased, a little awkward, and slid the lace
straps off my shoulders, his light touch sending another shock
through me. I ached to touch myself, for John to touch me, for
anybody to touch me.

     "Susan," Robert surprised me. I turned to him as he raised a
ten dollar bill into the air, smiling broadly. As I approached him, he
clearly was holding his gesture, anxious for me to guide him. I stood
close to him at the side of the chair, one hand on his shoulder the
other propped on my hip. My nipples hovered near his face. I made
no gesture to take his tip, leaving him little choice.

     
Robert reached to the elastic at the front of my panties, slipping his
fingers under it and pulling it two inches from my body. His other
hand gently plunged the ten dollar bill toward my crotch. The tips of
his fingers in the front of my panties briefly brushed the top of my
pubic hair and the orgasm that had been churning below my belly
almost broke the surface.

      laid my hand on Robert's and slowly brought it to my lips. I
gave him a quick kiss of thanks.

     I was naked above my garter belt now. Turning to Tim, I
pointed my nipples toward him like two eyes, bold, erect, meeting
his stare. I circled the center of the room giving him a full view of
my breasts from all angles, giving him a long look at my whole,
nearly naked body.

     
He wanted to speak, but was transfixed, I think, by the reversal of
our roles. Only moments before, when I was still mostly clothed, he
thought he owned me, thought that I was his to play wi
CaroleAT@aol.com


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