Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32
Nch nch nch nch nch. The beat blasts a powerful rhythm of a popular, top-40 type of music. Nch Nch Nch Nch. From the entryway the stage is at the furthest wall, about fifteen feet in. It’s not a very large room but the white-on-black glittery walkway extends from one end to the other in a straight line. Mirrors stretch the entire length except for the four-foot spread of curtains towards the end; That’s the wall that produces the girls, as far as anyone there is concerned.
Other than the two feet it takes for the stairs leading to the main floor, there are seats lined all the way down; they are black and have white flecks of glitter. There is only one gold-hued pole, but a video playing on the wall suggests two or three girls at a time is not unusual play on busy nights. This, a Tuesday in the middle of May, is not one of those nights.
Only the lonely dancer hears the squeeeeaaak of flesh against metal while she rides the pole between her legs as if it were the winning bull at the rodeo. She’s upside-down, her perfectly-painted-red nails wrapped around the pole to support her average frame. Long black curls fall out around her, sweeping the floor below.
She slides down to meet those shiny locks, slithering out on the ground in synchrony with the music. All that is between her and the men that surround her is the elevation of the stage and the thin, sapphire-blue fabric spread out across her tits and nether regions. Her barely clothed chest presses to the floor. A round, jiggling ass raises in the air and bump, bump, bumps with the hook of the base.
Sweat. Cunt. Window cleaner. Cheap cologne knuckle deep in cheap perfume. It’s the kind of scent you still pick up on yourself weeks after you’ve come to a place like this. The kind of scent that lingers and hangs onto the hair inside your nostrils for weeks, no matter how many times you shower. Some call it Dirty Vanilla. Some call it the scent of desperation. Whatever it is, it’s the scent you know your local strip club for.
Hands extend towards the stage, dollars waving her, each begging she bring that body in for a closer inspection. Obedient as ever, she crawls on all fours, staring animalistically at the bribes. Between her lips she takes one of the bills – eyeing that paying man hungrily just before the song ends. She stands upright, legs extended by the classic 1″ clear platform all strippers seem to own. A mascara coated eyelash accompanies a blue-eyed wink in the mans direction before she begins to sway her hips. He giggles in response, satisfied that the money he vended provided him entertainment.
Another song starts – the type of song anyone would know if they heard it because it’s familiar and from the early 80’s. It’s really all the same unless you try to listen, and no one here seems to actually care. That’s not what everyone is here for.
One hand reaches up and frees her breasts quickly enough to make a highschool boy blush, giant nipples rising in the chill of the air. Wallets flap open in unison around the bar, each eager to pay her the bill that makes the bottoms come off. Most of them frequent the area so they already know what’s coming next. She giggles and sashays flirtatiously towards the next man at the stage – he is alone, overweight, and entirely unjudged here.
A ten dollar bill is between his shaky fingers. She slithers out of her panties and tosses them aside before climbing down from the stage and straddling the man, completely nude. With her face to the stage she slides her ass down into his lap, reaches to grab his hands, and forces him to take her breasts into his grip.
He groans and she can feel the twitch in his pants. She leans her head back and whispers “You’re cute.” Into his ear before giggling and climbing off of him, certain to take the money with her. With the ease of someone who has done this often, she jumps back onto the stage and resumes her little dance. The man she had just climbed on shifts uncomfortably and looks around to see who is looking at him. All eyes are already back on stage, of course, because they didn’t come here to see him.
“What -” The front door opens and a man stumbles forward, blindfolded. He wears a pair of blue denim jeans and a light blue flannel shirt. His short black hair is chopped back into something that obviously needs no prepping in the morning. He has about a day and a half’s worth of stubble on this Sunday afternoon and a pair of Sinop Escort too-white tennis shoes.
“Hush,” A woman follows closely, her fingers draped over the fabric over the mans eyes. Her opposite hand is on the small of his back. She is dwarfed by his five-foot-nine in her five-feet-maybe form, but the thick grey boots on her feet give her at least some of what nature didn’t, raising her just tall enough that she only looks half-clumsy leading this man around. Her hair is brown, cut in layers and mid-length. Her eyes are as dark as brown can be without turning over into the realm of black. She too has on blue denim jeans and a thin, flowery top that drapes off of her right shoulder. A very simple, plain looking girl, with pale pink lips and a freckle on very tip of her nose. “It’s a surprise.”
“I know where we are.” He responds too quickly. The bouncer at the front of the club that she’s handing her credit card to looks away, the awkward moment hanging heavy in the air.
“You do not! What? You bastard.” She rips his blindfold off and looks at him, completely aghast. “You’ve been coming here in your spare time or what?” Although he takes her literal punches without dodging for the most part, he chuckles and puts his hands on her shoulder.
“Jane, all strip clubs smell and sound the same – and is that Centerfold playing? Come on.” Despite the exasperation in his words, he pokes his finger gently into her rib and has a good laugh at her expense.
“Oh.” The pinkest of pale blushes sweeps across her cheekbones, witnessed only by the man she is now facing. He responds with a caress to her cheek with the back of her hand. “Well, er…” She shrugs “Happy Birthday?” Before he can respond, she pivots to face the bouncer and snatches the receipt, signing her name quietly and handing it back. The two put their arms out, wrists up, to get their stamp: ‘XXX’, it says, in a thick, red color, marking them both for their indiscretions.
“Jane…” The once blindfolded man wraps his arm around her waist and leads her away from the counter. The blush is still there.
“Thank you. Really. This is going to be fun. I didn’t know you were open to exploring these types of places. Do you want to sit close to the stage or further back? You can choose a spot that you feel comfortable in while I get you something to drink.”
“You’re not supposed to be the one doing that tonight. You go find a spot wherever. Close is fine, seriously, I don’t mind. Seems like a good idea to be, I don’t know, more adventurous? Spontaneous? Whatever, I’ll go get a drink for the both of us.” Her eyes dart to the stage just in time to see the black-haired dancer disappear down the back opening. Jane notes the heart-shape of her ass and the splotchy brown birthmark there just above the left cheek. .
“Allllright,” The intercom roars to live, the DJ enthusiastically filling in the voids between the girls from behind his glass wall- what he looks like doesn’t matter to the people who come here. “That was Rita, gentlemen… and ladies..” Other than herself, Jane noted she was the only woman, but not until a few stray eyes left the stage to identify the ‘ladies’ part of the sentence. “She’ll be out on the floor if you’re lookin’ for a dance. Get in quick, though, that one is in high demand! Up next, Jezika!”
There is a juice-bar on the right side with napkins and those little red cherries and a menu with names like “Ravish-Me-Raspberry” and “Banana-Ramma-Slamma” that, admittedly, are not ordered very often in lieu of their simply named “Orange Juice” and “Red Bull” counterparts. To the right of the bar is the restroom – ladies on the right white door, gents on the black left door. It is nothing if not perfectly color-coordinated around these parts. Jane fiddles with the menu but doesn’t look at it for more than fifteen seconds.
“What can I get you, ma’am?” The server is a man with slicked back, dirty-blonde hair and green eyes. He has a very solid, stocky build and looks more like he should be off being a bodyguard instead of serving non-alcoholic drinks in a strip-club. There isn’t any alcohol here in this naked California frontier. That’s the law.
“I think just two cokes…” She answers, distracted, eyes on the new body being presented. Jezika has hair that is red – not orange, red – and straight, thin and cut off just above her tits. Her body is freckled from Sinop Escort Bayan toe to thigh, from hip to shoulder, from collarbone to forehead. Each mark follows so hurriedly behind the next some of them are even overlapping. What she wears is a creamy white ensemble, a piece of lace that vanishes deep into her crack. Perky pink nipples with barely-there areolas are held back by teeny-tiny strips of stretched fabric. They are a modest B cup but look generous on her super-thin frame.
“That’ll be four.” Again the man brings Jane’s eyes back to him, this time setting the drinks before her. She fishes in her purse and pushes a twenty in his direction. He takes it and holds it up to the light wherein he considers it for ten to fifteen seconds. Into the register it goes and out comes a little wad of cash, “That’s five, six, seven…” the words become more silent at this point but the counting is still happening in the palm of her hand. He reaches twenty, all in one dollar bills. “Have fun.”
“Thanks.” She leaves one on the bar and grabs the two drinks, seeking out the man that she’d brought with her, now beside the stage. He smiles delightedly, kisses her cheek, and looks back to the red-haired center of attention. Jane watches curiously while the temptress wiggles and writhes to the new playlist. It’s something by Britney Spears or Pussycat Dolls and who gives a fuck because the scent of musk and baby powder is all at once in Jane’s face and Kevin is eagerly dolling dollars from his womans hand to the other woman’s g-string to keep the party going, as it were. The woman leans towards Jane, their mutually soft cheeks warmly pressing together.
“Ooooh… Mmmmm, sexy woman,” Purrs the dancer into Jane’s ear, her voice a sultry whisper. A shy, unsure giggle escapes Jane’s nervous lips, her arms stiff and fingers spread wide beside her because she doesn’t know what to do with her hands. “I’m Jezika.” When she says it she draws the ‘z’ out into the soft flesh of the small woman’s lobe. When the barely clothed woman withdraws she drags her lips along Jane’s cheek, ending just at the corner of her mouth. It tastes like wrigleys spearmint and something Jane doesn’t recognize. “Find me on the floor for a dance.” She turns towards Kevin, “I will show you both a good time for the price of one.”
When she uprights herself and crawls away from the two of them, Kevin turns towards Jane with a suggestive look. She responds with what is perhaps the brightest blush he’s ever seen in her and shakes her head quickly back and forth; no. There was no way that was going to happen. When he laughs, she wrinkles her nose at him and stands up, “I’m going to the restroom. I’ll be back.” He laughs again and takes a sip from his coke before redirecting his gaze to Jezika.
A row of lights on the carpet dimly show her a path to the ladies room to the other side of the bar. As soon as she enters the brightly lit room she goes immediately to the sink and runs the water over her hands, splashing the cool liquid on her face. The mirror returns her own uncertain stair, her overheated body met by a confused mind as to why she had such a remarkable response to the whole ordeal. While she’s staring at her own reflection she sees the door swing open again and to her surprise it’s Kevin standing there.
“You’re not supposed to b-” The words stop just as quickly as they come. Kevin is on top of her in only a few strides, his lips forcefully pushing, his arms holding her pressed to his broad chest. He walks her backwards, strong-arming her into a stall just as his tongue penetrates her protesting mouth. While the initial shock begins to wear off, she stops protesting so much and begins to melt into his arms.
Before any protests can be made he presses her gently against the wall and stares into her eyes while he unbuttons her jeans. His movements are purposefully slow, exaggerated, his eyes never leaving hers. He is gentle, intimate, sweet. It’s as if they have all the time in the world together. As if they were in the confines of their own comfortable home instead of a dirty public bathroom.
When her body is half naked before him he stands before her and looks her over from navel to toes, seeming to worship her with his eyes. There is a mole here and a freckle there between mostly tanned skin, but all along her hips stark white lines jump out, stretch-marks charting their own paths on her Escort Sinop body. A dark patch of hair is delicately trimmed and cared for, sitting there atop her mound like a proudly tended patch of grass. He looks at her like she’s perfect.
Fumbling fingers clumsily pull at the buttons on his chest, her hands almost desperate to release him to her. She gets a few buttons from the top of his shirt and slides her hands in, running them through the thick hair. As soon as the tips of her fingers graze his skin she is met by a touch, but a single finger is prodding gently at her clit, developing a circular motion in the flesh there, pressure increasing with each passing second. All around the piece of fleshy nerve endings he dances his hand, touching and teasing and making her knees quiver. Just as she is about to go over the edge, he stops. Like a hungry animal he unzips his pants and swoops her up into his arms, holding her half-clothed to the unyielding wall behind her.
All at once his achingly hard, uncircumsized cock glides all the way into her warmth wetness. He looks at her wide-eyed and she looks away shyly knowing he hadn’t expected her to be so wet for him with the little bit of play they’d had. The two of them merging makes a sloppy, sticky noise and she knows she was even more ready than he, and it was he who assaulted her. Obviously something else or someone else had triggered this in her, and he assumes it was either him or the other girl. Either way, this revelation and invitation of velvety warmth makes his cock grow thicker inside of her so that she can feel each ridge and each vein from engorged head to base. Each pump is at the same rhythm as the last, no faster, no slower, a perfect momentum met by obvious years of practice together.
Her moans and grunts are muffled to the best of her ability, but the twitches and trembles of her sweaty body do not deny he knows all of the spots to hit. Her fingers are wrapped around his tight rear, each thrust flexing the muscle there and around his hips. She grips harder, loving the feel of his tensing in her palms. Gentle lips trace the curves of her neck as she leans her head back, his tongue flicking at that spot just behind the jaw, just below the earlobe. She cries out, despite herself.
Every jerk of his hips pounds him into her teased, swollen clit, every withdraw a tease to everything inside of her. Kegels tighten as if her body might grab him and suck him dry. The intensity of his withdrawal during her contracting makes her come fast and hard and unexpectedly, her body rocking back so her head smacks the tile. Her right foot jerks out instead and kicks the bathroom stall open by reflex.
Through orgasm-tinted eyes and what may or may not be a minor head injury she squints through the opening to see there is another person in the room. It is the woman who was leaving the stage just as they’d arrived. She recognizes the long, curly hair. It all happens within seconds but she swears to herself that she sees the woman holding the underside of her own breast, massaging the tissue there. She swears she sees her rolling a dark nipple between thumb and finger, twisting it into a thicker, harder form. The door slams shut again, gravity doing what it does best.
Kevin, unawares of the events, begins to sweat and tremble as he continues to hold her up. The familiar swelling and spasming of his penis makes her roll her head back again, coming for a second time just as he releases his load into her. His weight falls into her so she is pressed there, held between him and the wall. She breathes heavily and wraps her arm around him, the other habitually playing with his hair.
She stares at the bathroom door. She wants to tell him what she witnessed. She wants to tell him she knows someone was watching them. Instead, for reasons beyond her own comprehension, she decides not to tell him anything at all.
“We smell like sex. Let’s go home and do it again.” He tells her, releasing his weight so she droops down, feet flat on the floor. Hesitantly she gets dressed, still wondering as they exit the room together, clearly unafraid of being caught at this point. The tender notices, but he only grins and goes back to cleaning his work area.
“It’s your birthday – we can do whatever you want.” The two of them walk hand-in-hand towards the exit, but because she can’t help herself she looks back on her way out. Just as she begins to think she imagined what she saw earlier, she sees her again. There, across the room, the woman in blue sips from a straw and watches, unwavering, as the couple goes. One hand raises, fingertips waving a ‘goodbye’ to Jane before Kevin’s hand pulls her back out into the real world.
Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32