Message-ID: <1256eli$9706051510@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Archived-At: <URL:http://www.netusa.net/~eli/erotica/assm/Year97/1256>
Path: qz!not-for-mail
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam
Approved: <usenet-approval@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded <story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Story-Submission: <story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
From: Topspace4@aol.com
Subject: Celeste's #7 for May:  Tabitha [2/2]

DISCLAIMERS:
This story is written for an adult audience and contains graphic language and
explicit sexual material.  If you are underage, if it is illegal for you to
possess such material in the jurisdiction in which you are reading this, or
if adult sexuality of this type offends you, STOP READING NOW!

This story is a work of fiction.  It is not a true story, it is pure fantasy.

Other than as specifically explained in the author's notes below, any
resemblance to any person, real or fictitious, living or dead, is purely
coincidental and unintended.

COPYRIGHT NOTICE:
Copyright [C-in-a-Circle Copyright Symbol] 1997, by MountainTop Productions.

The material contained herein is intended for the personal use of the
reader.  Permission is hereby granted for duplication, without additions,
changes, or omissions, for personal, non-profit use, provided that the entire
contents of the disclaimers, copyright notice, and author's notes are
included in the duplicated complete work or, if the work is segmented as part
of the duplication, in each duplicated segment.  All other rights are
reserved, and making copies of this material or any portion thereof in any
form for any purpose other than that for which permission has been granted is
a violation of United States copyright laws.

AUTHOR'S NOTES:
The background and setting in the first part of this story are real.  The
club in San Diego exists, and a dancer there uses the stage name "Tabitha".

I have used that name with her permission and at her request; with some
compression for literary reasons, the verbal exchanges and other interactions
in the first part of this story actually happened.

The second part of the story, however, is my own personal fantasy.  After
considerable conversation with her, I am profoundly convinced that the woman
known as Tabitha is neither a prostitute nor an easy lay; she is an honest,
hard-working single parent who is willing, and fortunately for her able, to
support herself and her child as an entertainer who takes off her clothes and
dances.  We did not discuss this point, but I suspect that she spends a lot
of time fending off unwanted advances from men, many of them too young to
legally consume alcohol, who confuse fantasy with reality.  I have the utmost
respect for her, and I am honored to have made her acquaintance.

In editing this work I removed over 900 expository words from the first part
that mostly describe the interior of the club and various aspects of its
operation but are not essential to the overall story.  I will be happy to
e-mail an RTF copy of the longer version of this work, which also retains the
italics used for inner thoughts and emphasis, to anyone who requests it; the
text of the second part of both versions is identical.

Aside from reflecting my philosophy with regard to erotic power exchange, and
my perceptions of, reactions to, and interactions with Tabitha in the first
part of this story, all other aspects of the characters, and their activities
as depicted in this work, are completely fictitious.

Comments and feedback to Topspace4@aol.com are welcome.

***** ***** ***** *****
Continued from Part 1 . . .

*****

Tabitha had told me she would be working on a specific night a few days in
the future, and I had been sitting in the club for about an hour when she
arrived just after ten that evening.  She came directly to where I was
sitting; I rose to greet her, and she offered her cheek for a quick kiss.

"I've had a few drinks," she confided.  "Would you order a coffee for me?

I've got to do a couple of things, but I'll be back in a few minutes."  She
hesitated, then added softly, "I finished reading your stories."

There was alcohol on her breath, not overpowering but noticeable.  "Did they
work for you?"

I swear I saw a hint of a blush in her cheeks.  "Definitely," she told me,
then headed for the area where the dancers' dressing room and club office are
located. 
I caught occasional glimpses of her as she moved about that area, and I
became concerned when she did not return.  The DJ started to announce her as
the next dancer, then broke off and quickly covered when he realized she was
not standing by the stage ready to perform.  I motioned to one of the club
managers, using the rapidly-cooling coffee on the table before me as my
reason for inquiring.

"Is Tabitha all right?  She asked me to order her a coffee, but she's been
in the back for quite a while."

After giving me a quick eye-flickering checkout, he assured me that she
would be right out.  Then he headed for the club office, and a few minutes
later Tabitha walked over and sat down next to me with a bit of a sheepish
expression.

"Are you OK?" I asked her.

"I'm fine," she replied, "but I don't really feel like getting up on that
stage tonight."

I wasn't sure whether I really believed the first part of her response;
alcohol can affect people in lots of different ways.  Nevertheless, she
clearly wasn't completely under the influence, and if the second part of what
she said was true, I was possibly in luck.  "How about going in the back
room?" I asked her.

"Sure, let's do that," she replied, and she sounded happy that I had
suggested it.  In the brighter lighting of that space, more like a well-lit
living room, I saw that her skin, a light golden tan only a few days earlier,
was bright red; she had, she whispered, spent too long in the club's tanning
bed.  Then Tabitha was stretched out across my lap on her tummy, her pert
bottom tilted up, moving slowly in time with the music.  I was again enjoying
that up-close view of her undulating body when she put her lips next to my
ear and whispered, "Do something a little bit naughty."

I was stunned.  Fantasy was one thing, but she was inviting me to touch her.

As discreetly as possible I moved my left hand and slid my fingertips up the
soft surface of her thigh; her skin was hot from the sunburn and as smooth as
a baby's behind.  As my hand moved past the crease where her thigh joined her
buttock, I felt her press upward against my palm.  Emboldened, I raised my
hand a few inches and then brought it down, lightly but smartly, across the
sweet spot of her left ass cheek.

"Aaaaaaahhhhhhhmmmmmmmm."  It was halfway between a hum and a moan, and as I
glanced down and to the right I saw her eyes close and her lips part.  I
swatted her again, then continued in a slow, steady rhythm, and each time my
hand landed she writhed on my lap and made little throaty sounds that seemed
part contentment and part arousal.

After about a minute, she raised her head and shifted position, rolling
slightly away from me so her left hip was cradled by the tops of my legs.

"We have to be careful not to get caught," she whispered.  "I want to be
totally submissive right now.  We can go into one of the corner booths, but
we still need to be careful."

"I'd rather go someplace where we won't be concerned about that," I told
her.  "I didn't bring any of my toys on this trip, but I'm sure I can figure
something out."

She thought about what I'd said for an endless moment, and I was pretty sure
she would decline my suggestion.  But then she nodded and said, "OK, and you
can fuck me, but if you want to do my ass you have to go slowly and use
plenty of lube."

"I won't fuck you," I told her firmly.  "That's not what this is about."

She nodded again.  "Let me make some arrangements."  She handed me a paper
coaster and a pen.  "Write down where you're staying and directions; I'll be
right back.  Can you give me cab fare?"

"Of course," I replied, well aware of the need for discretion; it wouldn't
do for the two of us to be seen leaving the club together.  I scribbled the
name of the hotel, my room number, and sketchy directions; the hotel was
right along one of the major area freeways.  Then I took a twenty out of my
wallet and folded the coaster around it, and when she returned, I handed it
to her.

She glanced quickly at what I'd written, then said, "I have to make a safe
call in two hours.  You go ahead, and I'll be right behind you."

"I'll be waiting in the lobby," I told her.

I left the club and drove the few miles to my hotel.  Rather than take the
time to go up to my room and possibly not be downstairs when she arrived, I
took my briefcase and sat in the deserted hotel lobby.  I pulled out the
paperback I'd been reading during lunches and at other odd times; it was, by
a marvelous coincidence, The Loving Dominant by John Warren.

Precisely at one o'clock a cab pulled up under the hotel portico, and I
stood as she got out and walked toward the doors dressed in a V-neck pullover
sweater, hip-hugging slacks, and high-heeled ankle-strap sandals.  The hotel
bar was closed, so we couldn't stop for the glass of wine she suggested.  I
offered her my arm, which she took, and we reviewed the safewords we would
use as we headed for the elevators.  Tabitha appeared to be a little nervous,
and her next words confirmed my perception.

"I've never done this kind of scene before with someone I just met," she
said.

"I understand, and I know you're feeling a little tense right now.  Despite
the safe-call arrangement, you're taking a real risk, and my telling you that
you're perfectly safe doesn't do much to reassure you.  So we'll start very
slowly and see what happens.  How long since you've had sex?"

"Three or four weeks, I guess."

"That's quite a while," I ventured.  "Surely you've done yourself during
that time."

"Well, yes, but that's not the same."

We were in the elevator by then, and I opened my arms and waited for her to
step into them.  I hugged her, careful to not press her too tightly, and she
seemed to relax a little.  I released her as the car neared my floor, and she
stepped back with an audible sigh.  One milestone passed, I thought.  Easy
does it.  We walked side by side down the hall; I fished the electronic key
out of my wallet, opened the door, reached for the light switch just inside,
and motioned for her to precede me.  We stood at the foot of the bed, facing
each other.

"What do you want me to call you?" she asked.

"'Sir' will be fine," I replied.

"I've never called anyone 'Sir'.  Is it OK if I call you Daddy, and I'm your
little girl?"

My thoughts raced.  That's an interesting fantasy she has.  Given the
difference in our ages, it could be a pretty realistic one.  "Sure, you can
call me that if you like."

She got immediately into her fantasy head-space.  "I've been good, Daddy."

"I don't know about that, little girl.  You were naughty back at the club; I
think you need to be punished."

"No, no, Daddy, I've been good," she protested, completely in character for
the role she was playing.  I sat down on the end of the bed and reached for
her waist to pull her, still fully clothed, across my lap.  She resisted,
continuing to profess innocence, but I pulled a little harder and she flopped
down into position.  I put my right hand on the small of her back and gave
her a very light swat on her fabric-covered left ass cheek with my other
hand.  When she didn't object or struggle to lift herself up, I continued in
a slow rhythm, alternating on her two sweet spots and very gradually
increasing the force of my spanks.  I was gratified to see her start to claw
at the bedspread with her outstretched hands, pulling the heavy material
towards her and bunching it up in front of her face as she lay there.

Tabitha said "yellow" two or three times, reminding me once about the
sunburn hidden under her slacks, and each time I eased off on the force of my
swats more than enough for her to know I was respecting her safeword.  After
several minutes and perhaps twenty-five or thirty swats, I stopped spanking
and moved my hand in slow caressing circles over her still-clothes-protected
behind.  She grabbed handfuls of the bedspread, a clear signal of enjoyment,
and she made no attempt to move away from my touch.

"I really wish I'd brought my toy-bag on this trip," I muttered.

"So do I," she whispered, and her obvious desire tore at my heart-strings.

I'd never done this kind of a pseudo-incestuous age-play scene, but I was
determined to try to relate to her fantasy.  "I don't think you're feeling
punished by this, little girl," I said quietly.  "I think you need these
touches on your bare skin."

"But Daddy, I really have been good."

"I'm not convinced," I said mock-sternly.  "Stand up."

Tabitha complied in silence, and I reached for the hem of her sweater with
both hands.  "Arms up over your head," I commanded, and I pulled the sweater
past her perfect little breasts until it was tangled in her hair.  Her face
was obscured, but covered loosely enough to avoid breathing problems or
panic, and her arms, still encased in the sweater sleeves, were upraised.

Holding the sweater with my right hand, I slid the fingertips of my left
across her breasts to lightly tease her undecorated, but now fully erect,
right nipple, and she started to squirm, rotating her hips in a wide circle.

I bent over and placed my mouth gently over that areola, flicking my tongue
across her nipple and feeling it stiffen even more; I grabbed her wrists over
her head to preclude more violent motions, keeping her standing in place and
accepting the stimulation.

"Daddy, please," she whined.  "If you're going to do this, I didn't have a
chance to shower before I left that other place; can I take a quick shower
now?"

I could think of several reasons for that in-role request, all positive, so
I quickly acquiesced.  "Certainly, little girl; I want you to be
uncomfortable, but only with your punishment."  I grabbed the ends of the
sweater sleeves and pulled it free of her hands, then helped her disentangle
her hair from the neck opening.  She slipped her thumbs into the top of her
slacks and pushed them down over her hips; she wasn't wearing any underwear.

"Naughty, naughty," I chided her.  "Good little girls don't go without
panties.  I'll have to punish you for that, too, you know."

Tabitha hung her head in non-verbal submission, then bent over, unfastened
the straps on her shoes, and walked out of them toward the bathroom.  I went
around and ahead of her, turning on and adjusting the water and pulling the
curtain aside, then taking her arm to assist her as she stepped over the
front of the tub.  I peeked past the curtain a couple of times, but mostly I
let her take as long as she wanted in the shower.

Eventually she emerged from the bathroom, wrapped fetchingly in a big towel,
its bulky whiteness a sharp contrast against her sunburned skin.  She
complained of a bit of a chill, so I pulled back the covers and watched her
slide into one side of the king-size bed.  I brought the covers up over her
thighs, then went to the thermostat and adjusted it for more heat.  

I sat down on the edge of the bed next to her and said, "Put your hands
together behind your neck, and don't move them."  Again she responded without
speaking, and I slid one hand under the covers and began stroking her silky
thighs, slowly moving my hand higher and higher but stroking outward toward
her hip and avoiding her shaved pussy.  After perhaps thirty seconds of that
treatment, I saw her hands start to move apart.

"Keep still," I directed.

"It's hard to do that," she complained, but it wasn't a serious protest and
she quickly put them back in place.  The room was warmer by then, so I pushed
the covers aside and slapped lightly at the inner surface of her right thigh.

"It's supposed to be difficult," I said, "that's part of the punishment.

Now keep them where they're supposed to be or it'll be worse for you."

"Yes, Daddy, I'll try," she answered, and her tone now was a petulant sort
of simper.  I unwrapped the towel from her body, and she raised up so I could
pull it out from under her.  I reached up and tweaked her nipples, first one
and then the other, between my thumb and forefinger, then took the right one
more firmly and began to squeeze.  As I very carefully increased the
pressure, her hips humped upward, her hands started to move and then slid
back into position, and she gasped softly, but there was not the slightest
negative reaction.  I was watching her face closely, and when she started to
part her lips to speak I held the pressure for just a half-second longer and
then partially released it.  

"Aaaahhhh," she moaned, but it was a sound of pleasure, not discomfort.

"I'm a good girl, Daddy, let me show you how good I am."  She lowered her
gaze in an ostentatious display of modesty, but when she looked back up at me
there was a mischievous glint in her sparkling eyes.

"I think you're mostly good at naughty things," I said, "so show me how
naughty you can be and suck me."

Tabitha didn't hesitate at all; she was grinning like a little girl who's
just been offered the biggest lollipop in the candy store as I started to
loosen my belt.  I undid the top of my pants and she swung her body around to
yank them and my shorts down in a single motion.  Then she lay across my
thighs on her left side, facing me, and did an excellent imitation of a
sword-swallower, engulfing my cock into the warm wetness of her mouth while
holding the part that wouldn't fit with both hands.  As I got harder she had
to rise up to keep my length between her lips, and her head bobbed up and
down as her talented tongue bathed my stiffness.  At one point she let me
slip out of her mouth and smiled up at me, her hands now moving busily.

"Want me to lick your balls?" she asked coquettishly.  I shook my head; the
feel of her tongue sliding across the crown of my cock and then tickling just
below the sensitive rim was excruciatingly pleasurable, and I didn't want her
to stop for even a few seconds.  She smiled again, this time knowingly, then
resumed her ardent oral ministrations.  She knows she's damn good, I said to
myself.  I wonder if she suspects that "Bread cast upon the waters . . ." is
an apt quotation and that I can give better than I get.

As good as she was, I knew I wasn't close to coming and I figured it was
time for some turn-about.  Sitting up, I put my hands on her head and gently
lifted her, sliding slowly out between her encircling lips.  I rolled her
over onto her back and moved my body up between her legs until my cock rested
against her bald pubes, then took a handful of her golden locks in my fist
and kissed her for the first time.  She tried to pull away, but it was
playful resistance; she had told me she liked having her hair used to hold
her still.  I thrust my tongue into her mouth, and she opened wider, trying
to hide her tongue from mine, but I was insistent, and when they eventually
met I felt a strong tingle in my groin.

Having achieved my immediate goal, I ended the kiss, maintaining my grip on
her hair as I lowered my head to nibble at her firm breasts and stiffly
upstanding nipples.  She squirmed her lower body against me, increasing the
friction of our genital contact, and then she tossed me a live grenade.

"Fuck me," she whispered, her tone pleading.  "Please fuck me."

I lifted myself away from her, looking down at her face from a variant of
what the military types call the front-leaning-rest position.  God, I was
tempted!  She knew my first-meeting rules, she'd read them in my story, and
I'd told her back at the club that fucking her was outside my limits, yet
here she was, practically begging for it.  There isn't a straight man alive
of any age or temperament who wouldn't have been at least slightly tempted by
such a delicious morsel laying naked and wide open under him.  I didn't want
to refuse her outright, so I reached for the obvious barrier.

"I don't have any protection," I said.

"That's all right," she replied.  "I just got my three-month shot, so I
can't get pregnant."

Oh, great, I thought, but there's another reason for using a condom, even
though I hate them.  "You couldn't get pregnant anyway, I've had a
vasectomy," I replied.  "But there are other reasons for using protection."

"You don't have to worry about that," she wheedled.  "I've just been to the
doctor, I had a complete check-up with all the tests, and they were all
negative."

I wasn't about to get into a debate over the counter-arguments; it can take
twelve weeks or longer for an HIV transmittal to show up on a test, and there
isn't a test for Herpes.  The bottom line is both simple and incredibly
complicated, I told myself.  Tabitha's telling me that she trusts me to be
safe in a health sense, and I need to deny her request without sending the
message that I don't trust her the same way.  In the end, my conscience
overcame my gonads, and I fell back on an old cliche:  When all else fails,
tell the truth.

"I really, really want to," I told her.  "You cannot begin to imagine how
flattered I am that you want that with me, but I can't.  I promised that I
wouldn't do anything like that outside my committed relationship, and I just
can't do it.  But I do want to give you pleasure, and there are other ways."

Her expression showed disappointment rather than hurt, so I can only assume
she believed it wasn't a matter of trust between us.  Pushing myself from
between her legs, I swung her around until she was sideways across the bed.

Then I took her slim ankles in my hands and raised them, causing her to bend
her knees, and planted her feet at the edge of the bed, spread far enough
apart so that her legs fell away to the sides, leaving the flower of her
womanhood open and exposed.  I could see shiny traces of moisture on her
labia, and her delicate musk was the ultimate stimulant.

I traced the outline of her pussy with my right forefinger, then slipped it
gently inside her velvet-soft tunnel.  I can't believe she's had a baby
through there, my brain raved.  She's as tight as an anxious virgin.  I
extended my tongue and let it seek the eventual trigger of her release, still
hidden within its protective sheath.  She tasted incredibly sweet, and when
the tip of my tongue touched her clit her juices flowed out past my finger
and into my palm.

"More," she urged, and as I continued to lick her I was able to slip a
second finger in alongside the first.  Her tiny joy-button was stiffly erect
now, and I was amazed to be able to insert a third finger into her now
thoroughly relaxed vagina.

"Please, use your other hand too," she groaned.  One play-item I did have
was a small bottle of lubricant that I'd set discreetly behind the nightstand
clock while Tabitha was showering, and I hurried to one-handedly douse the
middle finger of my left hand.  I rested its tip against her anal pucker,
waited patiently until I felt the subtle tell-tale indication that she was
ready for the invasion, then pushed as lightly as I could.  After her earlier
expressed cautions, I was inordinately proud of myself as that digit slid
slowly into her slick rear passage without a hint of discomfort for her.

Now, I told myself, it's time for what the NASA folks call main engine
start.  I began a complex syncopation of motion with both hands, locked my
lips on the upper third of her pussy slit, and thrashed my tongue back and
forth over her hard little clit.

"Yes, oh, yes, that's it, lick me there, right there," she chanted, and her
entire body vibrated as she approached liftoff.  Her hands tightened on my
shoulders, her chest surged with sped-up panting, and the muscles in her legs
clenched as she headed steeply up the mountain of ecstasy.  Then she released
one of my shoulders and clamped down even harder on the other, her nails
digging into my skin, and without slackening anything I was doing I looked up
past her rippling belly to see the starburst unfold.

Tabitha put the back of her free wrist against her mouth, and her contorted
facial expression was ample evidence of her struggle to remain silent as a
violent orgasm surged through her.  I watched her ride that pulsing wave
higher and higher, and then she suddenly dug in her heels and pushed herself
off my still-moving tongue and fingers; the exquisite sensations had reached
the point of overload.  She pressed both her hands into her crotch, covering
her pussy with overlapping palms, and pulled her thighs together tightly to
increase the hand-pressure.

I stretched out beside her, my head propped on my left hand, and tenderly
stroked damp tendrils of hair away from her face.  "My clit is still
throbbing," she whispered.  "That was wonderful."

With what could have been a lot worse timing, the quiet warble of a pager
intruded on Tabitha's afterglow and my basking in its reflection.  We both
glanced at the clock; it read 2:35, and she shrugged apologetically.  "I know
it's early," she said, "but the club's closed now and my friend's probably
antsy."  She got up, retrieved her pager, looked at it quickly, then returned
it to her purse and gestured toward the phone.  I nodded, and she lifted the
receiver and dialed; the ensuing exchange was terse.

"Hi," she said.  "I'm fine, I just got here a little later.  I'll be calling
a cab at three."  She listened for a few seconds, then said, "Right, bye,"
and hung up.

Tabitha came around the bed, unself-consciously naked, her hair tousled, and
lay down in the crook of my outstretched right arm.  I enfolded her waist,
and she snuggled up against me, her head on my shoulder.  Then she reached
down and took my half-hard cock in her hand and began to slowly stroke up and
down its length.

"That's not necessary," I whispered.  "I've had my pleasure giving you
yours."

She gave me a last gentle caress.  "Then I guess it's 'blue' now, the end of
the scene.  I wish I could just go to sleep with you, but I can't."

"I wish you could also," I answered.  "There are a few things more intimate
than sex, and waking up with you next to me would be another sort of fantasy
come true.  But I understand, and the thought is taken for the deed."

Tabitha kissed the side of my neck, then my cheek, with real tenderness, and
then she lifted her head and stared at me for a long moment.  Without
breaking the eye contact she'd established, she said two brief sentences, and
those seven little words were for me, as a top, the twin peaks of personal
gratification; they gave a mental orgasm more thrilling than any physical
release could possibly be.

"Thank you," she said.  "I trust you totally now."

***** *****

-- 
+--------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `------------+
| story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us | story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us |
| Archive site +--------------------+------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ |
\ <URL:http://www.netusa.net/~eli/erotica/assm/>    .../assm/faq.html> /