Message-ID: <12417eli$9806222120@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Archived-At: <URL:http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/Year98/12417.txt>
From: "Steven A. Black" <sblack@mail.coin.missouri.edu>
Subject: [NEW] Private Dancer (m/f, rom)
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d
Reply-To: "Steven A. Black" <sblack@mail.coin.missouri.edu>
MIME-Version: 1.0
Content-Type: TEXT/PLAIN; charset=US-ASCII
Path: qz!not-for-mail
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>
X-Original-Message-ID: <Pine.GSO.3.96.980614165905.16408A-100000@coins0.coin.missouri.edu>

DISCLAIMER/WARNING: If you're under 18, go away. :)

This is my fourth story - the first three, "Love At First Byte",
"Reunion" and "My Weekend With Nancy" have all been very popular. This is
my first new story in over two years, and is based *very* loosely on the
last few months of my life, though it is still *very* much fiction.

Remember, all of these stories are archived at
http://www.geocities.com/Colosseum/Bleachers/5688 , and since I love to
get feedback about my stories, if you enjoy them, write me back at
sblack@mail.coin.missouri.edu .

Enjoy! :)
================================================================
                            Private Dancer
                          by Steven A. Black

In a lot of ways, I was luckier than most. When *my* world came crashing
down around me, I at least had someplace to return to.

Four months prior to my return home, two years of hard work had been
destroyed in the span of just a few hours. Those two years in Slidell,
Louisiana, just outside of New Orleans, had been the most blissful of my
life.

For the first time, I had finally made it big. I was renting a three-story
condominium on the shores of Lake Pontchartrain with an absolute knockout
of a girlfriend; I was about to become a manager of a perfume business,
something that I never had imagined I would be able to do; and for the
first time in ages, my family, who I had more or less fought against in
some form my entire life, was finally beginning to show respect that I
thought I had earned long since.

In short, things were going very well. Then the roof caved in.

At the end of January, all hell broke loose. The corporate headquarters of
my Atlanta-based company was raided in a joint effort by both the FBI and
Internal Revenue, with a fairly large number of top executives being led
out of the building in handcuffs. The few who weren't arrested were given
the joyous task of letting the rest of us know that our "services were no
longer required" - a diplomatic way of saying, "Get out and stay out." 

I drove home not knowing much of anything about the future, but there were
several things I did know: I had enough money to pay all of our bills that
month, including rent. I was good enough in sales that another job within
a reasonable amount of time was not unthinkable. And I knew, through it
all, that my loving girlfriend would be supportive and caring.

Granted, it had not been an easy two years with Lynne. After all, the
suddenness of our love affair had startled even me, who was becoming
*used* to sudden romances. But even through some of the difficult personal
times of the last several months, which saw our relationship become
somewhat strained, we were getting through it okay.

Or so I thought.

I arrived at the condo with all of these thoughts swimming through my
mind. As I unlocked the gate and began climbing up the stairs, my head
began to clear a little bit further. The future could more or less take
care of itself, as long as I did my part to help it along.

I opened the door, and noticed a tangle of clothes in the living room.
This was hardly a surprise. Lynne and I were most assuredly *not* known
for being Martha Stewart wannabes, and our home would definitely *not* win
the Good Housekeeping Seal of Approval. I hadn't heard the washer in the
garage, but I presumed that the laundry was being done.

I turned to the kitchen to get a soft drink - Mountain Dew, as always -
when I heard a faint moan coming from upstairs. This also wasn't terribly
unusual - Lynne had become accustomed to being at home over the last few
months, as I had begun to make us enough money that she didn't *need* to
work, so she often used the time to catch up on sleep.

I decided to get another soft drink for her while I was thinking of it,
and took both Dews up the stairs. Interestingly enough, I kept hearing
moans, which *was* unusual. I stopped for a moment and listened. I am,
after all, something of a voyeur, and the thought of catching her in a
private moment giving herself pleasure made me increasingly aroused.

I silently blessed myself for having found such a woman. She was
expressive, both in the verbal and sexual sense, and as such was usually a
delight to be around. I didn't always agree with her feelings and
thoughts, but generally that didn't matter, as we got along well enough to
make things work between us. I imagined the sights I might see as I walked
through the door.

It didn't quite prepare me for the sight that I actually *did* see.

Lynne was lying on the bed, sweating, eyes closed, face flushed, mouth
open in what could only be sheer passion. I could see Lynne's small,
gorgeous breasts heaving with every breath, her legs trembling, and her
cunt glistening a few feet away, obviously aroused, probably having come
at least once that afternoon. Seeing her like that not only was arousing,
but made thousands of erotic images come into my head.

But also thousands of hateful ones.

Because she wasn't alone.

Lynne's hands were running through the hair of a somewhat larger woman,
who was kneeling on the bed fingering Lynne's clitoris as she whispered in
her ear. What was worse, I *recognized* this woman as Lynne's former lover
Cathy, who had distinguished herself by lying - repeatedly - to Lynne
about her education, her career, her love life, and basically everything
else she had ever done.

So what the hell was *she* doing *here*?

It wasn't so much that Lynne was sleeping with someone else. Being a
polyamorous couple, we were allowed to sleep with, and even fall in love
with, others without disturbing our own relationship. I also had no
problem with Lynne being with a woman - she said at the outset that she
was bisexual, so I had never been surprised when she had told me about
various girlfriends she had loved.

But even in the most open polyamorous relationship, there are three
inviolable rules. Never intentionally be dishonest. Never deliberately try
to hurt the other people in the relationship.

And *always* communicate.

Lynne, it seemed, was violating at *least* two of the three rules. She
certainly hadn't communicated any desire to be with Cathy, and after
telling me the things Cathy had done to her emotionally, I had surely
tried to communicate to her that I didn't ever want Lynne to consider
going back to this person. But she hadn't been dishonest with me, as far
as I knew.

"Lynne," I said. Her eyes awoke, startled, as she quickly tried to cover
herself, and I could see the panic in her eyes. "How long have you been
doing this?"

She lowered her head. She couldn't even look me in the eye.

"Three months," Cathy said. "You weren't good enough for her, she knew
that. What do you think she's been doing while you threw yourself into
that so-called *business* of yours? She went to someone who actually cared
about her, who loves her. Me."

I tried as best as I could to ignore her, but the tears were welling up in
my eyes. "Lynne...is that the way you really feel?" I asked. Again no
answer.

I felt like everything that had been in front of me that morning had been
shattered like a plate glass window, and that I was now looking out at a
landscape that would best be described by the words "atomic wasteland".

I was crushed. I couldn't say anything.

"Are you going to keep standing there?" I heard Cathy say. "We'd like to
get back to what we were doing."

The *gall* of this woman. She had the nerve to say this to me, like it
shouldn't even matter that she had managed to destroy my life?

I lost control completely. I stalked into the room and started slapping
Cathy, repeatedly. Finally, when I saw that I had drawn blood, I stopped,
horrified at what I'd done. But I looked at Lynne, lying there, helpless,
looking frightened of me, and while tears were in my eyes over what I'd
just done, my mind was only filled with disgust over what *she'd* spent
the past three months doing.

I looked at my left hand. On the ring finger was the promise ring she'd
given me, two long years ago, telling me that she'd always love me, how
she'd never betray my trust, how even through the hard times, we'd always
back each other up.

Lies. All lies.

I took the ring off and haphazardly pitched it at her, hitting her in the
chin. "Here, Lynne," I said. "Give your speech to her. Maybe she'll
believe it. I can't anymore."

With that, I began packing. I didn't have a whole lot of things, but I
knew what was definitely *mine*, and what wasn't worth fighting over. By
the time my last bag was packed, the two of them had started up again. No
tearful goodbye, no "please don't leave" speeches...Lynne didn't even
care.

I had been a fool all along.

                            *       *       *

As I packed the car, I tried to consider my options through the tears. I
certainly could afford to hook up with an apartment somewhere else in the
New Orleans area - Covington, Mandeville, maybe New Orleans East - but
Slidell, and for that matter the entire New Orleans area, had never felt
like home to me. And if I stayed in Slidell, I couldn't ever drive
anywhere without reminders of Lynne.

No...I had to leave. But where? I couldn't go home to my family and admit
that I had failed. My folks had ripped me for a year about moving in with
her, and had ripped me further about polyamory, and to admit that they
were right at this point would not lead to anything but months of "See, I
told you he couldn't do it" speeches.

Then it hit me. There *was* one place where I could go, but to make it
there, I was going to have to call in every favor I had out.

                           *        *        *

Columbia, Missouri is one of those towns that is a really nice place to
live - if you haven't lived there all your life. It somehow has all the
amenities of a large city while keeping a small-town feel, and the people
are generally very nice, especially if they know you.

Which was fortunate, because frankly, with all of the baggage I had with
me, emotionally, I was going to need as much niceness as I could get. My
credit in town was not the best, and the demise of my previous employer
was not what one would call a confidence-builder. But even more than that,
I was going to need as much emotional support as possible.

Within a week, I had begun establishing myself, at least a little bit. I
found a halfway decent apartment in town, found a job, and got myself a
few new things - furniture, clothes, etc. I was basically settled in my
new home.

But emotionally, I wasn't even close to settled. Not by a longshot.

In the 12 hours or so that it took for me to drive from New Orleans to
Columbia, I had about seven different crying spells that forced me to pull
over to the side of the road. Even after arriving, the spells didn't stop.
I was on the verge of suicide several times, because I just could not
handle everything that had happened to me.

Three months after arriving, the depression was still in high gear. It
wasn't working on my psyche non-stop, and I had managed to find several
old friends and make several new ones, but it still attacked me when I
least expected it. I made one somewhat lame attempt to start a
relationship with someone else, and I pursued it so aggressively that I
nearly lost the friendship because of it. Fortunately, my friends seemed
to understand my feelings quite well, and it did help me through the worst
times, but it's safe to say that socially, I was a disaster.

On one particularly bad day, I had passed by a strip club in town known as
"The 21 Club". I had heard of it - it was heavily advertised around town,
and my friend Tim had mentioned it to me so many times, about all the great
times he'd had there, that part of me felt like I knew the dancers as well
as he did.

But I'd never gone in. I've never been much on strip clubs, to tell you
the truth, at least most of them, because they've always struck me as the
type of place where guys who can't find anyone go to look at what they
can't have for themselves. Which, though I was *not* about to admit it to
myself, fit the description of me perfectly.

But I thought about it for a moment as I passed by it, and said to myself,
"Why not? You deserve at least something resembling a night out, instead
of wallowing in all of this despair over Lynne. Relax - enjoy yourself for
a change."

So, with a bit of a swagger that I hadn't had for months, I went in.
Little did I know what would follow in the days to come...

                             *        *        *

I walked into the club nervous as hell. I don't really know why - maybe it
was my Christian programming coming back to haunt me, but at first I felt
really uncomfortable.

It probably had something to do with the large gentleman in front of me.
The *very* large gentleman in front of me. He was about 6'6", 325 pounds,
one of the biggest men I've ever seen up close. Suffice to say, if I was
going to be in a fight, I wanted him on *my* side, thank you very much.

"You ever been here before?", he asked.

"Not here," I said. "I've been at a couple of clubs in New Orleans, but
that's about all."

He smiled. Good. That meant he was less likely to kill me.

"A newcomer? Haven't had anyone new come in here in a while," he said.
"What's your name?"

"Andy," I said. I showed him my ID as proof.

"Well, Andy, it goes like this," he said. "This place is non-alcoholic,
which means the women can go totally nude and can pretty much do as they
please. Our drinks, of course, are hideously overpriced, and we require
that you have a fresh one in front of you at all times. You can't touch
any of the dancers on stage, obviously, or I'll have to hurt you."

He grinned. "You don't want that." I wasn't about to disagree.

"We do have hands-on lapdances if you've just got to get a handful," he
said. "The dancers take you upstairs for that - and they start at $20 and
keep going from there, so bring a full wallet. Now then - let's get you
over to the bar."

I paid the cover charge, got myself a Dew (what else?), and sat down to
enjoy the show.

I sat for the first few dances, and I was kind of surprised. Hollywood
portrays these places as pretty much the ultimate experience, where the
guys are going nuts over the dancers, and every dancer is a goddess, who
is pretty much completely untouchable. The image is not the reality. The
dancers are more or less ordinary women, who do have very good bodies but
aren't always the best-looking girls you've ever seen - or the nicest.

Still, "21" was better than most. Most of the women were college students,
more than likely trying to pay their way through school, and those that
weren't students were probably trying to pay down debts from *going* to
school. And most of them were *very* beautiful.

There were three stages, each with one dancer apiece, stripping gradually
through a series of three songs. Here was "Shannon" in front of me, with
piercings both in her belly button and her clit; across the room was
"Passion", a very dark-skinned woman with large breasts who frankly looked
like she wanted to go home; and on the large stage, was "Jasmine", the
playful one who clearly enjoyed this job more than most.

Around the stages were most of the customers. They were in big cushy
chairs, with their drinks and bills in front of them. The dancers would
take the dollar bills from the customers, and their actions varied per
dancer; they might simulate a sixty-nine, placing the bill over the fly of
his pants and slowly drag the bill up his body with her lips, all the way
up to his mouth, then use her breasts to pluck the bill from his lips
(while the customer couldn't move, or touch her); they might have a
customer put his hands behind his back while she ground away on his groin;
or they might put their thong on, have the customer sit on stage looking
up to the ceiling while she rubbed her (covered) cunt on his face.

This wasn't a complete list, of course. Some of the dancers were
particularly creative, working some gymnastics into their act, but the
basic idea was the same - keep giving us money, we'll perform. It was
mildly entertaining, I suppose, but nothing to write home about.

Until one of the dancers sat down next to me.

"So, are you new here?" I heard her ask. I looked in her direction - and
this time, I thought I *had* seen a goddess.

If Hollywood was looking for someone to cast in the role of a sexy,
flirtatious babe, they wouldn't have needed to look any further as far as
I was concerned. She had bright, blonde hair, which ran down just past her
shoulders to the upper slope of her chest; she had sparkling green eyes
which were piercing in their sensuality; long, graceful legs that just 
seemed to go on forever, just slightly hidden by a short white skirt; and
an excellent chest, which was obvious even with an orange sweater covering
it.

But most of all, she had a face that was as bright as the sun itself. As
best as I could tell, she was one of the few dancers who I had *not* yet
seen - surely she hadn't been on stage yet, because I *know* I would not
have forgotten that face. Not by a long shot.

"Um...I've been to places like this before, but never this one," I said,
trying to at least pretend to be coherent.

"I thought so. You looked a little lost," she said. "I'm Sasha. I hope
you're having a good time."

"Well, now that you're over here I definitely am," I blurted out. Oh,
God, I must sound like the biggest goddamn idiot ever to walk in the
building, I thought to myself.

She laughed. It was a beautiful laugh. "Just relax and enjoy yourself.
It's a pretty fun place." She maneuvered her chair closer to mine. "So
tell me...what exactly brought you here tonight?"

"Honestly? I don't really know," I said. "I've always heard a lot about
this place, and everyone I know has told me it's a really good place to go
to get away from everything...but I guess I just never really thought
about coming out here until tonight."

"At least you're honest," Sasha said, brushing some hair out of her eyes.
"I get so many people in here who wouldn't know about honesty if it came
up and bit them on the ass." She paused, and looked into my eyes. "I think
you're different."

My inhibitions slowly began to fall away. The woman was mesmerizing, and
very sensuous. "It pays to be honest these days," I said. "The whole
reason I'm back here in Columbia is because my ex-girlfriend didn't have
the decency to be honest with me."

"She's crazy," Sasha told me. "You can't do a relationship any other
way...and who on earth would want to throw away someone as good-looking as
you?"

I blushed. I couldn't help it. Here I was, sitting with a woman who looked
as though she had leaped out of the pages of Playboy, and *I* was the one
being called good-looking.

Some days, the world makes no sense.

"Me?" I said, meekly. "I'm glad you think so...I definitely feel like I'm
overweight, and you...you're incredibly beautiful."

She thanked me, and we continued talking. To me, my night was already
made, just meeting this person. It was strange. In the back of my mind, I
*knew* why she was there. She wanted to try to make some money off of me,
lap dancing, etc. But she was so beautiful, and seemed so sweet. It was
like one of those carnival games where you *know* you're being conned, but
the guy there is so friendly and persusasive that you end up throwing
darts at balloons for a buck apiece anyhow.

And the flirtatiousness didn't hurt. As the conversation went over, I
could see her face coming closer to mine, and her voice growing softer; I
felt her arm wrapping around my shoulders as we talked...and what's more,
I felt myself responding in kind.

A couple of minutes later, we just stopped talking altogether, and looked
into each other's eyes. I'm not entirely sure what was going through her
mind, but I know what was going through my mind. I wanted her. Badly.

"I think we need to go upstairs," Sasha whispered.

"I think so too," I softly said back.

                           *         *         *

Before I ever knew what hit me, we were upstairs in the lap dancing area.
There were four smaller booths, most of them filled with dancers
straddling customers, grinding away, and two larger booths.

I had butterflies racing through my stomach as we took a seat in one of
the smaller booths. We were about halfway through a song as we sat next to
each other.

"Have you had a lap dance before?" Sasha asked.

"Never."

"OK, then, let me explain how this works. You'll be on the front edge of
this seat, and I'll sit in your lap in just my thong, grinding my crotch
against you, in some fashion or form as I see fit. It's $20 for one song,
$40 for two, $50 for three, and the cycle keeps going for as long as you
have money." She giggled at that. "You can't touch any part of me that's
covered by the thong, and you can't kiss, lick, nibble, bite, or anything
like that. Other than that, everything's legal."

I reached into my wallet and gave her $50. "This seems reasonable for a
start," I said.

She put the money in her purse, just as a song was starting. "I'll start
it up on the next one," she said. "I don't believe in ripping anyone off.
Especially someone who's handsome as you."

I looked down, blushing. "No, Andy, look at me," she said. "I'm serious.
You say you're overweight - well, so am I, at least as far as I'm
concerned. I don't think you look bad at all. You have the most beautiful
blue eyes I've ever seen..."

She stared intensely. "I'll bet you could look at *any* woman with those
eyes and she'd do *anything* you wanted her to."

With that, she took off her skirt and sweater. Sasha's body was absolutely
perfect - well-proportioned, fit, trim. Her breasts were as sexy and
erotic as anything I'd ever seen, not too big, not too small. My breath
caught in my throat - so in that sense, she was, quite literally,
breathtaking.

A new song started. "Shall we begin?" Sasha asked seductively.

I slid to the edge of the seat, and leaned back as she directed. She sat
in my lap, her legs crossed under mine, and began to slowly, gently grind
her body against mine. My arms went around her, and my fingers traced
lightly down her back. Her skin was so smooth, almost like velvet. I
brought my hands up by her face, and gently brushed away some hair that
had gotten into it. I worked my fingertips down her cheeks, over her neck,
over her arms, and finally my hands found their way to her breasts. Every
touch brought out just the slightest groan, or a catch in breath, and she
had a *huge* smile on her face.

"So...why come back here?" she asked. "Columbia's not exactly a tourist
spot."

"Well, I didn't come back voluntarily," I said. "I told you about my
ex...well, I just wanted to get so far away from it all. I have friends
here, and it's the one place other than home where I actually felt like it
*was* home. So...here I am."

She leaned forward, pressing her chest against mine and letting her head
roll forward. My lips brushed against her neck, though I didn't
actually kiss her, and I let my now hot breath caress her neck.

"Oh, God, that's good," she said huskily. "Tell me...what was she like?"

"Well, for the longest time, it actually was nice," I said to her. "She
loved me, I thought, and I *knew* I loved her. I'd like to think I did my
best, but...I don't know."

She was silent for a moment, still moving. "I'm curious," Sasha said. "How
good was she in bed?"

I guess I shouldn't have been surprised, considering where we were and
what we were doing, but I definitely was *not* prepared for that question.
"Um...quite good, actually. She was very loving, very sweet, very
romantic..." I don't know how I held the tears back, because my voice was
definitely starting to catch.

Sasha noticed. She didn't say anything; she just sat back up a little bit,
and ran her hands down my cheeks, stroking them lightly. My hands, which
had been roaming her back for a while, began running through her hair
again, and I looked into her eyes. I think she could tell just how much my
heart was hurting.

I was right. "You've been hurt badly," she said, "in ways I wouldn't wish
on my worst enemies. But you really need to understand. You're not the one
who did anything wrong, *she* did. Don't blame yourself - and don't even
tell me you're not, because I can see it in your eyes. You are."

"How did you know?" I asked.

"It's not hard to figure out," Sasha said. "Most people who come in here
just want to turn their minds off. You - you look more like you're
searching for something. I don't know what, but I get that sense."

She leaned closer. "I hope you do find it...because you deserve better
than what you've had."

As she finished saying this, she arched her back and let out a loud moan.
"God...I've never felt like this before," she said. "This is incredible."
She turned her body around on me, and started bouncing on my crotch,
leaning back so that our faces were inches apart. My hands started playing
with her breasts in earnest now, rubbing them, teasing the nipples, and if
the catch in her breath was any indication, delighting her to no end.

"Do you like that?" I whispered.

"Oh, God, yes," she breathed. "I'm so hot and bothered right now, you have
no idea."

She kept moving, changing positions on me, but absolutely loving every
minute of it. We told each other about our various fantasies, what she
liked to do to her boyfriends, our wildest experiences, and on and on. By
the time the third song ended, we were about as lost in each other as we
could possibly be.

"So," she asked. "You want more?"

After those "dances", I didn't have the heart to object. I handed her
fifty more dollars. She grinned lustily, and kept dancing. Needless to
say, I was hard as a rock by this point, and Sasha certainly seemed to be
enjoying herself. I knew that the dancers, even if they absolutely
loathed the customer they were with, had to at least *pretend* to be
enjoying themselves, otherwise nobody would want to buy a dance from them.
The logic is indisputable.

But the more she danced, the more I got the feeling that she wasn't acting
very much...if at all. Either she was a *very* good actress (which was
certainly possible), or she really *was* having the time of her life.

Meanwhile, the more I looked in her eyes, the more I touched her, the more
I wanted her. She was intelligent, with a great sense of humor, and not
afraid to open up - the sexiness only added to it. I had never been so
overcome with lust before, but I had to keep myself in check.

But I *could* be playful. I reached over into my Dew and pulled out what
was left of the ice cubes and with one hand began rubbing some of them
down her spine, and rubbed others over her breasts. She arched her back
and gasped at the sensations, and gazed at me again. Her eyes looked to
almost be glazing over.

By the final song, she was *really* breathing heavily. "You know
what I really want?" she asked.

"What's that?"

"I want to kiss you, Andy," she said. "I want to lose myself in the
moment, but they'll be really pissed off if I do."

"Why?"

"Because it's against their rules. But I can't help it. I want you."

"I want you too," I said softly.

Those words seemed to trip a switch in Sasha. She took my face in her
hands and kissed me, gently, but very deeply as well. My hands traced a
path down her spine, and I greedily kissed her in return. She broke off
the kiss and began rubbing her crotch against mine frantically, moaning,
not loudly, but enough to allow me to hear. About a minute later, her
moans turned into soft, whimpering cries, and I felt her body beginning to
tremble in my grasp. Violently.

She wasn't acting.

The music had finally stopped, and so had she. She was trembling, a lot,
to the point where as she got dressed, she couldn't even put her shoes on.
"And to think I've got to dance next," she said. And before I knew it, she
was literally *running* for the stairs, without even a goodbye. I couldn't
understand any of this, but I knew one thing.

I would definitely return.

                         *       *       *

The following Friday, I half expected Sasha to not even remember who I
was. Granted, I'd given her an awful lot of money on the first trip to the
club, but frankly, I wasn't even sure that it was an unusual amount.
Besides, I convinced myself, all I *really* was to her was a customer. An
enjoyable one, perhaps, but ultimately not *that* big a deal.

I knew she was working that night, so I went over to the larger stage in
the back of the club, where I was hoping she'd be. Not that it mattered
much; I figured if she was somewhere else, I'd just move. I was quite
curious, not only to see if she remembered me, but also because I'd never
actually seen her dance onstage.

I ordered my first Dew of the night, and I had to wait a little bit
through a couple of dancers - Jasmine (who looked even better up close
than she had from a distance), and Myra (who I had not seen before, and
was alright, but nothing to write home about).

Then Sasha took to the stage.

Talk about breathtaking. I've never been much for country music, but I
figure that if more female country singers looked like her, I don't think
you could ever get anyone to *stop* listening to it. She dressed in a very 
short pair of cut-offs, a blue flannel shirt and - in a *very* nice touch
- a white Stetson hat.

The music started. She hadn't noticed me yet, to my knowledge, as she
started her act. Not much at the start, just some sashaying around the
stage, and swaying her hips in rhythm with the music.

It took about a minute, but she saw me - and did a double-take, right
there on stage. I just winked at her.

She walked over, and I held out a dollar bill. I put my arms behind the
chair as she sat down in my lap and put the bill between my lips, slowly
grinding away again, tracing her hands over my chest. I couldn't help but
shudder when she began playing with my nipples through my shirt.

"I missed you," she whispered in my ear. "I thought about you all week,
hoping you'd come back. And here you are." And before I could even laugh,
she leaned forward in my lap, kissed me gently on the lips - and took the
dollar bill with hers. I was impressed.

I noticed, as the music went on, that Sasha was playing more and more to
me, playing with her breasts as she took the shirt off, and brushing them
against my face (as if I had somehow forgotten what they looked like). As
if to placate the crowd, she gave other customers their fair share - as
best as I could tell, she wasn't cheating anyone - but she seemed to be
saving her best for me.

Finally, towards the end of the second song, she stripped out of her
thong, and for the first time I was able to see all of her. She had
obviously shaved a good deal of her pubic hair - there was some, but not a
lot.

As the third song started, she walked over to the edge of the stage where
I was. I licked my lips in anticipation, and she apparently caught it. She
winked at me, and took her index finger deep into her mouth, sucking on it
like it was her boyfriend's cock. In my dreams, of course, it would have
been *my* cock, but oh well.

She finally took it out and moved her hands down to her pussy. She moved
even closer to me, and opened her lips. Quite simply, I've never seen one
that beautiful. Even before she started caressing her clit in front of me,
it was plain as day that she wasn't just wet...she was *soaked*. That
whole next song, she caressed herself in front of me, letting me watch -
and *listen* - as she placed two fingers inside, and thrust them
repeatedly - almost *violently* at times.

She suddenly stopped, towards the end of the last song, took the fingers
out...and slowly rubbed them along my lips, with the most lustful look in
her eyes that I've ever seen in any woman. I was *stunned*. If this wasn't
about as bold a statement as I could have gotten, I don't know what would
have been.

She walked offstage, changed as quickly as she could, and paraded out to
me as if on a catwalk.

"So, Andy," she asked. "Are you ready for me?"

No further words were necessary. I offered my hand, and we went upstairs.

If anything, Sasha was even *more* lustful this time than last. Whatever
rules the club had for her seemed to be going out the window. As she
danced, she occasionally began lapping at my neck furiously with her
tongue, which is something that never fails to turn me on even in the most
mundane of situations.

But considering what we were doing, she was playing with fire...with her
job as well as with all of the lust I was feeling. 

"Let me ask you something," I said, as calmly as I could. "Suppose I were
to offer you the most passionate night of lovemaking you've ever had in
your life."

"Suppose I call your bluff," Sasha replied.

"Suppose I'm not bluffing."

"Suppose I don't *know* that you're not bluffing."

"You're a risk-taker, Sasha," I said, laughing. "Look at the job you're
doing and tell me I'm wrong."

"I take *calculated* risks," she said, not laughing. "When I come up here
and dance, there's always a bodyguard standing close by. When I'm on
stage, there's people all around - nobody could do anything if they wanted
to. I'm not easy, and I hope you understand that."

"I do. I wouldn't be offering anything if I didn't."

"How do I know that?"

"Tell me the truth," I said. "How many guys are there that come in here
and actually give a damn one way or the other about how much you're
enjoying yourself?"

She thought about it a minute. "Not very many."

"I'd guess a lot less than 'not very many'. Sasha, I don't know what the
hell has happened to me here, but you're the only damn thing that's been
on my mind for the past week. You're the most intriguing woman I've met in
years, and I kinda like the idea of getting to know you a lot better.

"Look...we've made a connection here somewhere. I don't know how, exactly,
or why, but we did. I can see it in your eyes, and I can hear it in your
voice when you talk to me." I leaned in closer. "And I can feel it in the
way you move against me too."

The music stopped for just a moment, and I quickly wrote down an address
on a piece of paper. "Here's my apartment. When you get off of work, knock
on the door - I'll be there. You know I'm big on honesty, so I'll just say
this - I'll never make you do anything you don't want to do. If you just
want to talk, I'll be happy with that. If you want to do anything else,
that's fine too. If you decide you don't want to come over, well, I'll be
disappointed, but I understand. All I know is that I want you so
desperately I can hardly see straight."

With this, I tucked the address into her thong as she climbed onto me
again. "Whatever you decide, I understand. But I do hope you come over."

I was shaking as I said this. I had no idea whether I was going to be
rejected, thrown out, or worse. Certainly, as beautiful as she was, this
would not have been the first time she had been propositioned - of this I
was certain. But I hoped she wouldn't write me off because I did this.

Before she could answer, the music started to play again. She didn't say
anything - but the look of lust was still there. As the music went on, her
rhythmic grinding took on more of an urgency. And it was at this point
that I noticed that she wasn't the only one becoming breathless.

I was too.

Somewhere in the middle of the conversation she had started massaging
*just* the right spot on me. My eyes closed, and my breathing became very
heavy as waves of pleasure started traveling through my body. Sensing
this, she lowered herself off of me and started massaging me through my
shorts with her breasts. Usually, this doesn't do much for me.

This time it did. Before I even knew what was happening, I was gripping
the armrests on the couch as firmly as possible. I bit my lip to try to
keep myself from crying out. Quickly, she climbed on top again and started
rubbing against me furiously, yet *again* hitting just the right spots,
playing my body like a violin. I felt her body start to shiver. She leaned
forward and put her lips to my ear.

"I'm coming, Andy," I heard her moan.

She then leaned back, eyes closed, and let herself fall forward. Her lips
found mine, and we kissed. Hard.

It was too much for me. I started moaning, as loudly as I could, knowing
that our lips would muffle each other's cries as our tongues furiously
darted around in each other's mouths. We lost ourselves completely in the
pleasure we were feeling, and I actually was so turned on at that point
that I can barely even remember most of the details. I *do* know that I
was coming harder than I had in years.

Finally, mercifully, we stopped, and caught our breath. The music was
drawing to a close, and slowly, she climbed off of me, and I tried to
stand up.

We both fell over. My legs were so wobbly I couldn't even stand up.
Apparently, she wasn't doing much better. I pulled myself up by the side
of one of the booths, and held on while I stood. She did the same.

"I have to go," I said. "My offer still stands. I'll be there."

"I haven't decided yet," she said. "We're not supposed to date anyone
who's a customer here - and by their way of thinking, once you're here,
you're *always* a customer."

"It's up to you," I said. "You can trust me. Like I said, I will not make
you do anything you don't want to do."

Still shaky, I left, not having any idea what was going to happen.

                          *         *          *

It was about 12:30 by the time I got to the apartment, tired, shaky, and
confused.

I fixed myself a hot bath, and climbed in. More than anything else, I
needed to calm down. The last week had been the most surreal and
incredible experience of my life - but I needed a dose of reality.

"She's just a stripper," I told myself. "Okay, she's *good* at what she
does, but so what? What you're getting is no different than what she does
for anyone else who comes into the building. Sure, you're a good guy, and
maybe she even really thinks that way too. But it's not like she actually
feels anything, right?"

I closed my eyes, contented. I was much calmer now. "And there's no way in
the world she *really* wants to come over here - it's not like she's in
love or anything, right?"

Still, though, it was hard *not* to think about other things...her soft
skin, her luscious kiss, and the way her body moved against me. But maybe,
with a little bit of distance, both geographically and emotionally, it
would just fade into memory.

One thing was for sure. For the first time in ages, I wasn't thinking
about Lynne. And regardless of anything else I may have felt or thought,
*that* was probably the best sign of all.

With this in mind, I climbed into bed.

Sleep, however, was not forthcoming. The best I could really do was kind
of a half-sleep, half-dream sequence where the only thing I could think of
was Sasha, her body pressed against me, her lips and tongue searching my
body...

This was when I heard the doorbell ring.

I drearily looked over towards the clock. It was just coming up on 3:30
a.m.

I bolted upright in bed. "21" closed at 2:30. "No," I said to myself. "It
couldn't be."

Quickly throwing on a bathrobe, I hustled downstairs, thinking in my mind
what I would say, what I would do if it *was* her.

I opened the door. As it turned out, I didn't even have *time* to think.

                          *        *        *

It was as if a tornado came through the door. In one motion, Sasha opened
the door, walked through and slammed the door behind her. Before I could
even say "Hello," she was all over me, her lips kissing mine, her tongue
thrusting deeply into my mouth when I finally got enough sense to open it.

"Did you miss me?", she said breathlessly. She kissed me again, not even
waiting for a reply. My hands were clumsy by now, trying desperately to
undo her raincoat.

"I thought you weren't supposed to date customers," I said, at least as
breathless as she was by now.

"Who's gonna tell? You?"

She had a point.

Sasha paused long enough to help me with getting her raincoat off, tossing
it aside. She wasn't wearing anything underneath it. She got my bathrobe
off, and for the first time, I felt our two naked bodies pressing against
each other. Her tongue lapped furiously at my neck, as she apparently
remembered the effect she had on me the last time she did this.

I slowed her down for a minute. "Are you sure you really want to do this?"
I asked. "You're not obliged to do this if you're unsure."

Sasha gave me a mischeivous glare. "If you have to ask *that*, you haven't
been paying attention," she said.

Who was I to argue? "My bedroom's upstairs," I said. I took her by the
hand, and we walked up the stairs to my room.

Once there, I turned the light on, and dimmed it low enough so that we
could still see each other, but that the room had something of a romantic
glow as well. I took her face in my hands and kissed her as gently as I
could.

"Tell me why you're here," I said. "I really need to know."

"Because you're you," Sasha said. "You're the only one who's ever treated
me with respect and class. Most of the people who come to the club say
`OK, slut, do what I'm paying you for.' I said I take calculated risks - I
didn't say they were always *wise* ones.

"So you come in, out of the blue, telling me that I'm wonderful, sweet,
beautiful, sexy - something I haven't heard in years. Not from my
ex-husband, not from anyone. In two trips to the club, you've treated me
better than just about any man who's come into my life."

She took my face into her hands now, and kissed me even more gently than I
had kissed her. "How could I not come over when you invited me?"

She led me over to my bed, and gently pushed me down onto it, back first.
Her hands started rubbing my body, as gently as possible.

"Now it's your turn," Sasha whispered. "Why me?"

In truth, I really wasn't sure of all of the reasons...but once I started
talking, the focus seemed to be clearer. "You know, I'll be the first to
tell you I don't really know all the reasons, but I know that you were the
first one to really make me feel special in an awfully long time. After
everything that happened with my ex, it had been ages since anyone had
done that.

"Then, on a lark, I walk into the club one night, and you're telling me
how I deserve better, how I really am worthy *of* something better than
what I've dealt with over the past weeks, months, etc. But really, there's
even more to it than that.

"You haven't played me false. You haven't led me to believe anything about
yourself that isn't true, and I can see it in your eyes, and hear it in
your voice. You're real - more real than anything I ever had in Louisiana.
Because of that, I'm healing a hell of a lot faster than I ever was
before.

"And I owe all of that to you."

Sasha had stopped stroking, and was now looking into my eyes. Her *own*
eyes, by now, were tearing up. "You really think that highly of me?", she
whispered.

"To paraphrase you," I whispered back, "how could I *not* think that way?"

With this, she laid down next to me, gave me a quick kiss, and held me
close. We stayed that way for a long time. Finally, Sasha spoke.

"Look...I don't know how well this is going to turn out, but if you're
willing to give this a chance, do you think..."

I put my finger to her lips. "Yes. I'd like to give us a try too," I said.

Tenderly, we kissed, and our hands started exploring each other. She
seemed to really enjoy rolling my nipples between her fingers, and I liked
tracing my fingernails down her spine, which was rapidly becoming a
familiar sensation for me.

I rolled her over so that she was lying on her back, and began exploring
in earnest. I kissed her neck, violently flickering my tongue along the
corners of her throat. She reacted to it about the same as I did when she
was doing it, pulling me tightly against her and moaning loudly. Before
she could return the favor, I moved further down her body, rubbing my lips
between her breasts lightly.

I moved over to her right breast, and cupped it in my hands. My fingers
rolled over her nipples gently, as her body quivered. My tongue began
tracing ever-narrowing circles around her breast, and she hummed with
delight, pausing only to gasp when one of my hands started playing with
her other breast. As I did this, I could feel her raising her hips to try
to rub her clit against me.

I ignored it, teasing her breasts more. Finally, I took her nipple into my
mouth, and sucked and licked for all I was worth. What few inhibitions
Sasha may have had were *rapidly* falling away with every movement of my
lips and my tongue, as her cries became louder. "Oh my God...I've never
felt this good in so long..." she said.

Grinning, I moved my tongue down her stomach, and traced a trail to her
pubic hairs...and pulled away, eliciting a *very* frustrated moan from
Sasha - which quickly changed to one of much pleasure when I began licking
at her toes. She was slightly ticklish, judging from her laughter, but it
was interspersed amongst waves of pleasure shooting through her body.

Slowly, I licked my way up her legs...over her calves, behind her knees,
then ever so slowly up her thighs...to the point where she was begging me
for more.

"Andy," she said, "please don't make me wait."

"But Sasha, darling," I said teasingly, "didn't you say that teasing was
where most of the fun comes from?"

"Yes," she said. "But not *all* of it."

I winked - and started up her other leg.

"Me and my big mouth," she said, laughing.

I was determined to make this worthwhile for her, though. I finished
tracing my tongue up her other thigh and began exploring her cunt with my
fingers. It really *was* as beautiful as I'd seen onstage...and now I was
becoming familiar with every detail. I lightly kissed it, which elicited a
gasp, and out of the corner of my eye I could see her hands tightly
gripping the sheets.

I took a finger and lightly brushed her labia, and she started spreading
her legs wider than she already had, opening herself up to me. With a
little searching, I found her opening, and slowly pushed the finger
inside of her, so that my fingertip was rubbing the top of her vagina. She
groaned, loudly, as I began thrusting the finger in and out of her. Then,
as she was just getting used to that, I began lightly licking at her clit
with my tongue.

It was almost like a bomb had gone off. It only took a few licks with my
tongue for her body to start gripping my finger *hard*, to the point where
even her obvious slickness wouldn't allow me to move it. She brought her
hands to my head and held me firmly against her as wave after wave of
orgasm overtook her body. With my other hand under her back, I felt her
shake and shiver uncontrollably as she came, loudly, with no sense of
restraint whatsoever.

She pulled my head until I was compelled to move my face to hers, and she
kissed me again, even more deeply than before. "I can taste myself on your
lips," she said. "Now I want to taste you."

She rolled me so that I was on my back, and I expected that she would
probably tease me as I had teased her.

She didn't disappoint.

Sasha took an excruciatingly long time. She seemed intent on tracing every
inch of my body with *her* tongue, just as I had done to her. I certainly
was not complaining, even when she made a point to tease my cock several
times, only to move slowly away, chuckling to herself the whole time.

But when she finally *did* get there, she didn't waste any time. She
flicked her tongue along the underside of my cock, seemingly knowing that
this was the best way to pleasure me. I certainly didn't try to hide how
much I was enjoying myself.

She took me completely into her mouth - not that that was difficult, I'm
not all that large - but still, the feeling of her slowly riding my whole
length with her lips was incredible. And what was more, she continued to
flick her tongue along my most sensitive spots, a difficult trick - but
one that I was growing rapidly to appreciate.

The tension built for me. My body longed for release, but Sasha wasn't
about to allow that to happen. Time and again, she brought me *very* close
to the edge, before dropping me down ever so gently. I lost count after
about the first four times she did this.

"Sasha, I don't know if I can take this," I said, gasping.

She merely grinned. "*Now* who's enjoying the teasing?" she said,
wickedly. I finally looked into her eyes, with the most loving look I
could muster. It must have done something, because all of a sudden I saw
her shiver involuntarily.

"Maybe I *do* have the power she says I do," I said. I didn't have long to
ponder this thought, though, as she came up by my side and kissed me
deeply again.

"Take me," Sasha said. "Now."

I rolled on top of her, quickly found a condom (how I managed to have one
handy I *still* don't know), slipped it on, and pressed the head against
her opening. "Are you sure?" I asked.

"Please," she whispered, and guided me into her.

The feel of her against me was unreal. Even with the condom, I could tell
she was completely, utterly soaked. There was no acting whatsoever going
on.

Finally, after what seemed an agonizingly long time, I started to move
inside of her. I was kissing her the vast majority of the time, but it
didn't take her long to start wanting more. "Harder, harder," she gasped.
"Whatever you do, don't stop. I want you, Andy - fuck me. Please."

As if I needed any further encouragement.

Within just a few minutes, the encouragment was more vocal. "Oh God, don't
stop! Don't stop!" She rolled, quickly, so that she was on top, and
started bouncing furiously on me. I was rapidly losing control, and kept
thrusting.

The climax, when it finally came, was overwhelming. She pulled me up to
her, so that she was essentially sitting in my lap, and we both threw all
of our inhibitions out the window, screaming, coming, wave after wave
crashing over us, our bodies trembling, shaking, like an earthquake
rocking the very earth underneath our feet, not that we cared, because we
were too busy pleasuring each other, loving each other...

                          *         *          *

That was five years ago. So much has happened since that time, and as I
recall these moments in my life, it's hard to imagine that this man could
come from so far down to where I am now.

I have a business - in sporting goods instead of perfume, but it's
thriving nonetheless, and it has served to make my life more comfortable.
But I'll never forget that time in my life, when Sasha managed to get my
life back on track.

Oops...he's talking again. Better pay attention.

"Do you, Andy, take this woman, Sasha, to be your lawfully married wife?
To have and to hold, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health,
for all the days you both shall live?"

Looking in her eyes, there's only one answer I can give.

"I do."

                                  END



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