Stripped

 

By Donna M.

 

The beat was pounding when I came through the curtain and danced toward the pole.  I clung to songs like old memories, so my entrance song was always �Decadent Dance� by Extreme.  I thought it was fitting.  This place, where I�ve been dancing for about six months now, was a full-nude/no-touch joint.  The beers were reasonable for a �gentlemen�s club� so the patrons usually got drunk, and therefore the no-touch part was welcomed by us girls.  Of course, if you wanted a decent amount of folding money placed on the railing, then you had to give them their money�s worth.

I got into this business to pay for college.  With degree in hand, I was still doing it.  During my senior year I dabbled in prostitution along with the stripping.  The money was way better and I liked it, though I had a few too many asshole �dates� for my taste so I scaled back.  I still do the occasional trick�I admit it�but only after doing some heavy-duty screening.  I preferred dancing.  I�m told I have a knockout body.  My tits are firm, all natural C�s.   I don�t do drugs.

The pole gleamed in the garish stage lighting.  I spun around it, making several typical stripper moves before undoing my top with the requisite flourish.  Even in the spotlight, I could tell the guys up front were straining to get a better look at my chest.  I fucked the pole in pantomimed movements after I lost the short tear-away schoolgirl skirt I�d been wearing.  Now in only a thong, I kept miming I was fucking the pole, rubbing my barely covered pubis up and down on it as I threw my head back for effect, all this matching the intense climax of the rocking song.  Ha-ha, �climax� indeed!

The rest of my routine was away from the pole.  I approached the rail (and the ogling men), collected the bills already there, and wiggled my tits wildly before tossing the money to a corner of the stage to be picked up later.  I went back to the front of the stage and sat down, spreading my legs wide.  Several men shouted �Take it off.�  I waggled my finger at them as if I wouldn�t do such a thing.  That drew more shouts.  As the next song began (a much slower, seductive number) I lifted my knees, and with my legs still wide, mimed I was getting fucked missionary.  The guys went wild.  After a few moments of those gyrations, I performed my specialty.  Faster than most eyes could see, I got out of the thong the old fashioned way, but in well-practiced supersonic speed.  When the guys realized they were looking at my shaved pussy instead of fabric, larger denominations were making an appearance on the stage�s railing.  I got on my hands and knees and crawled along the rail, picking up the dough and letting each and every hungry man get a good look at my dangling tits, my ass, and my pussy.  When I saw a twenty on the railing in front of an older man of about fifty or fifty-five, I crawled over, picked the bill up, and right there in front of the guy rolled it into a cylinder and pretended it was a dick�and he�s imagining it�s his�pantomiming it was fucking me.  The place went wild, and many more bills were placed on the railing.

You see, that�s how it goes in a strip joint like this.  You reward the men who put up the dough with a close-up performance at the railing.  They can�t touch (or they�d get thrown out or worse) so they get the next best thing, a nice close view of my pussy, fueling later masturbatory dreams.  Since men dream of wet pussies, before I go on stage I rub a little shiny liquid lube in between my labia, which combined with perspiration from dancing gives my womanhood a nice, wet, aroused look under the stage�s spotlighting.

Sometimes, a good close-up isn�t good enough, and a message will be sent backstage that the patron would like a �date� after hours.  As I said before, I�m not above some whoring to make extra money, but only losers would sleep with a paying customer seeing how the cops are all over places like this.  They get all the drunk driver arrests, and a prostitution bust would be like icing on the cake for them.

That evening, however, I made an exception.  An impeccably dressed man sitting front and center before the stage rail laid down first a twenty, and later a fifty before my routine was over.  The well-dressed guy was in the company of two large, swarthy gentlemen.  Right away, I thought mobster.  I gave the man a good show for his fifty bucks.

I saw him and his alert entourage were still there when I came out for my second routine.  This time I wore a mid-calf length red-sequined cocktail dress, with a slit side that went all the way up one thigh.  The dress always caught the patrons off-guard, since it was more lounge singer than stripper wear.  My selected music oozed lounge singer too.  I was Jessica Rabbit without the red hair.  As I danced (mostly sensual undulation) I lip-synced the song.  My well dressed friend put the first bill on the railing before I could even remove the dress.  I�d check out its denomination later, but for now I danced for him.  I hiked up the slit side of the dress so my bare ass could be clearly seen.  I snuck a glance at the man, who nodded appreciably at me.  He was much better looking than Bob Hoskins and didn�t gawk as much, which I took as a big plus.  More dancing as I raised the dress higher and higher to the hoots of the male audience.  When the dress was mostly bunched at my waist, I coyly placed a hand over my pubic region and teased the audience with quick views, taking my hand away and putting it back like a kids� game of peek-a-boo.

I knew my timing, and seductively raised the dress up and over my head just as the first song concluded.  I went from Jessica Rabbit to Porn Queen, dancing provocatively around the stage, giving the crowd a good look at jiggling breasts and moist pussy lips.  Sitting on the stage with my legs spread wide and held high, I feigned masturbating (testing the limits on what management allowed) and let out a few yelps over the throbbing beat of the music.  Mr. Mob was very excited.  He placed another large denomination bill on the rail in appreciation of my talents.  When I picked it up along with all the others, I couldn�t believe my eyes.  No Grant or Franklin looking back at me; instead it was Grover Cleveland.  I nearly stumbled leaving the stage.  Holy shit, a $1000 bill!  Was it real?  Did they even make these anymore?

Backstage, I looked with wonder at the old bill.  It sure looked real, and there was a small piece of tape on the reverse.  Something was written on the tape: �BACK DOOR, AFTER� it said, and in smaller characters �4 more R waiting.�   My admirer was using what had to be a rare piece of US currency to ask me for a rendezvous, and he was promising four grand for the privilege.  Of course, he didn�t simply want to talk, but for that kind of money�

It was the gangster vibe that scared me, not the prostitution.  For all I knew, this guy could be dangerous.  Danger turned me on, though I had visions of getting banged in cement overshoes.  �Four thousand bucks!� I said aloud as I was putting my street clothes on before heading out the back door.

�I see you�re a smart girl as well as a beautiful one,� he said as I walked up to him in the rear parking lot.

Even under the sodium lights, I saw how handsome he was.  He was perhaps fifty, and the suit he wore cost thousands.  His two beefy bodyguards stood at each side, discreetly back a bit though I�m sure if I made a startling move it would likely be my last.  Bud, the club�s manager usually posted a bouncer by the back door to dissuade men from bothering us girls when we left, but no one was around.  He must have been paid off.

I held up the thousand, saying, �This must be pretty rare.  Do you give one to all the girls?�

�I save rare things for rare women.�

�What makes you think I�m that rare?� I asked.

�You don�t think I have fine tastes?� he said, making a gesture to highlight everything from his suit to his watch to the Bentley idling nearby.  He held up four fingers.  �I trust that is a fair offer for you to spend the night with me.�

The money and the thrill won over danger.  �I�d say it�s fair.�

He took my arm and guided me to the car.  I had a sixth sense of those things, so I wasn�t worried he�d be a sadist or freak.  There was something vaguely familiar about him.  Maybe I�d seen his picture on the news.  If he was organized crime, that may explain it.

With one of the henchmen driving, we travelled for many miles to an affluent suburb, turning and entering through an opening gate, down a long drive to a large mansion.  The henchmen were extremely vigilant as we exited the car, even though I figured he had been more exposed and at risk behind the strip club than here.  Inside, he offered me a drink as his two bodyguards disappeared.

�My name�s Maury, by the way.  My mother, God bless her soul, in her infinite wisdom named me Morris, but what can one do about things like that?�

�Maury, my name is��

He cut me off.  �I know your real name, not that silly stage one you use for stripping.�  He said it, and I was shocked.

�How?�

He smiled, and unlike an earlier one this smile had warmth.  �Let�s just say that I�m attracted to you and I wanted to know all about you.�  He saw the look that must have been on my face, for he added, �You have nothing to fear from me.  I may be in a rough business, but I�m not a bad man.�  I could only guess how �rough� his business was.  Since I didn�t respond, he said, �Let�s relax and talk for a while, okay?� while gesturing toward a large sectional sofa.  �I may have done some research on you�doesn�t mean I know everything about you.  Let�s talk.�

I didn�t expect him to tell me anything substantial about himself, so I sipped my drink and told him all about me.  I told him about my mom raising me alone, about my rebellious teenage moments, about college, and how I ended up doing what I was doing.

�Do you think growing up without a father in the house had something to do with your stripping and��

He didn�t have to spell out the �and� part for me.  I was here, wasn�t I?  Soon I�d be fucking this man.  That was the �and.�  �You know, I never gave it a thought,� was my tepid answer.

�Will you dance for me?� he asked.

�Like I did earlier?�

�Yes.�

Sans musical accompaniment I began to gyrate, swinging my hips around like I was using an invisible hula-hoop.  I cupped my braless breasts under my camisole top, pushing them upward and outward so he couldn�t miss the taut nipples poking at the thin fabric.

He muttered �Nice,� as I inched the top upward, exposing more and more skin until the bottom curves of my breasts were visible to him.  I held it there and danced some more, slowly closing the gap between me and him, sitting on the sofa.  With a flourish, I pulled the top over my head and off.  I then unbuttoned my jeans and began sliding them downward, all the while still undulating.  With the jeans down around my ankles, I turned and wiggled my ass at him, my thong allowing much to be seen.  He said �Nice� again.  I kicked the jeans aside, now in only heels, necklace and thong.

�Are you going to dance for me?� I asked mischievously, �or would you rather I undress you?�

�The latter sounds quite appealing.�  He reached into an inner jacket pocket and retrieved a thick envelope and handed it to me, before standing and removing his suit jacket.  I wasn�t sure if I�d piss him off by looking at what was inside, never mind count it, but he said, �Go ahead.  You can look.�

I never saw this much cash together in my whole life.  One hundred dollar bills!  This wad HAD to be more than four thousand!  �There�s too much here,� I said.

He reached toward the envelope and closed the flap, and my hand over it.  �I�m sure it�s the right amount.  Now, what were we doing?�

I placed the envelope on an end table and proceeded to unbuckle his belt and undo his pants.  His shirt and tie came off before the pants.  His socks came off before his boxers.  He had a nice cock.  He was already erect; my striptease did the trick, and now I would.  With condom suitably installed, we fucked right there on the sofa.  I straddled him where he sat, my tits rubbing against his chest and our eyes locked together.  I know some girls who simply hate making eye contact while fucking a john, but I loved it, since I knew what it did to the guy.  I rolled my hips and ass as I rose and fell on his cock.  I kept my eyes glued on his as easily as his hands were glued to my ass.  He was getting to cum-land quickly, I could tell.  My forward rocking on each upward swing made sure my tits and belly were doing some rubbing of their own.

�I�m�� was all he managed to say.  He held me down as his cock throbbed inside me.  I felt several spasms so I knew he came heavily.

�Yes!� I croaked hoarsely in my best fake-orgasm cry.  A whore learns early on not to lay it on too thick with ungodly screaming.  Subtlety does the trick (wink).

�Did you like me?� I asked with my little-girl voice.

He assured me he did. 

I removed the condom and complimented him on the volume captured within.  �What do we do now?� I asked, and that seemed to piss him off a little.

�Can�t we simply converse?  Enjoy each other�s company?�

�It�s your dime,� I said, and then realized it was the wrong thing to say.  Like a storm cloud passing overhead, his face darkened, and I got a glimpse of the dangerous man I believed him to be.  �I�m sorry, I didn�t mean that,� I quickly added to appease him, palming his flaccid cock, hoping for a distraction, forgiveness.

�I thought we could transcend the mundane aspects of the�ahem�financial arrangement, and get to know each other better.�

�Yes, I�d like that,� I said, trying hard to surpass my fear with faked sincerity.  His neutral expression provided no feedback.

He insisted on another drink.  How could I refuse?  Our small talk became background noise to exploring each other�s body.  For a man who seemed to have positional power, he didn�t let his body go soft.  He was lean yet well-defined, and I wondered what he did at his age to stay in such great shape.  I�d have to ask him later.  In the meantime, he took special interest in my breasts, fondling them at length.  My nipples grew taut, and they weren�t alone.  He was hard again.  Very hard.  A warmth spread through my body that seemed to travel right to my clit.  I seldom if ever grew hot with a john, but somehow he was doing something to me.  Sitting on the sofa, he got on his knees between my legs and eased them farther apart.  When he began licking and sucking on my clit I went crazy.  I grabbed his head, wishing his tongue was his dick and urging it deeper.

It seemed only seconds before I cried out, �Ohhhhhhhhh Yessssssssssssss!� and came in an explosive climax.  The sweet agony of my orgasmic trembling went on forever.

He didn�t wait for the intense orgasm to subside.  He lifted me into his arms and took me to the bedroom.  My foggy brain registered how tumescent he was�looking even more swollen than before�as he lifted my legs wide and entered me.  I gasped, not only from the penetration but also from the sudden immensity of my arousal.  My pussy was aflame.  Every thrust of his cock plucked my clit like a guitar string.

�GODDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD,� I wailed.    �MYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY GODDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD!�  I�d never had an orgasm that cataclysmic.  My body shook and I bucked my hips wildly, as if I was trying to take more of him into me than his cock.  When he pulled out, climbed beside me, and rammed his cock down my screaming, wide open mouth, I took it.  I replaced his cock with my fingers, rubbing my clit, prolonging the mother of all cums.  I swallowed every drop he sent down my throat.  No choking, since I was too busy anyway keeping the orgasm going with my frantic fingertips.  I wanted more.  He may have cum, but he didn�t wilt.  I saw that his cock was still tumescent so I begged him to fuck me more, never registering that this last time he�d worn no protection.  He rolled me over on my stomach and then mounted me from behind.

I frantically pushed my ass upward to meet every thrust of his.  I was cumming again before I even knew what hit me.

When he got off the bed, I begged him for more, my pleading voice sounding nothing like my usual self.  In reply, he tossed me a vibrator (where did that come from?) and urged me to keep things going.  I did.  About a half-hour later the bed under me was soaked but I wasn�t sated.

�Please!� I begged.

Instead of Maury getting back out of the robe he�d put on, he called out and his gigantic bodyguards came into the room.  Both wore large towels around their waists and nothing else.  Maury motioned toward me on the bed, and the big men grinned, letting the towels fall.  I should have been scared.  I should have been petrified.  What had been a trick was turning into rape, but I wasn�t afraid.  I WANTED IT! my mind screamed, and I was going to get it.

�I�m too spent to please you right now, but Tim and Nick will do nicely.�

They used every orifice, and they didn�t wear condoms.  I came so many times I lost track.  By the time the big men were through with me, I�d had enough myself.  I was finally sated�and as sore as hell.  My labia were excessively swollen, and my anal sphincter would probably take days to return to normal size.  I hurt all over, but in some ways it was a �good� hurt.  Somehow I slept, and didn�t awaken until Maury slipped into bed behind me and began caressing my breasts.

�What did you give me?� I asked groggily.

�It was a new form of Viagra, but specifically formulated for women.  Up until the time the drug began to work, you�d been faking orgasms.  I thought you�d much rather have real ones.  I know I enjoyed it.�

�But�those guys�no condoms,� I muttered.

�Yes, that was unfortunate, though they have been found clean in recent medical tests.  I should have been more explicit with my instructions.�

�Why?�

�Did you think you were earning all that money just to fuck me?  I have to reward Nick and Tim somehow, don�t I?�

It was dark and I couldn�t see the bedside clock from where I lay.  �What now?� I asked wearily.

My answer came from a poking cock that was pushed in from behind.  �Now I need to take care of my needs,� he said, as he began to fuck my sore pussy.  There must have been traces of the drug still in my system, because even though it hurt, I still felt the twitching of my abraded clit as I began to climb toward orgasm.  He at least wore a condom, and thankfully he�d lubricated it before he penetrated me.  Regardless of the current circumstances, my orgasm was sublime.  Maury whispered how sweet my vocal response had been to his hungry ears.

The next time during the night (or more accurately, early morning) I awoke to find him at my �door��my back door.  I�d been sleeping on my stomach and he�d spread my legs and obviously lubed me up while I slept.  I awoke when he poked through my sphincter.  Awakening, however, wasn�t quite the way to describe the instantaneous shock of anal penetration.  Though I screamed, his weight kept me pinned to the bed as he thrust into my rectum.  His ejaculatory spasms were unmistakable, yet he never wilted.  I figured he must have popped another Viagra while I slept.

For the next couple of hours as dawn approached, I was his fleshy pincushion.  He fucked me for as long as his chemically-fortified cock could go.  Sometime in the last hour before daybreak I lost my will and didn�t fight him.  The drug he�d slipped me had worn off, but I thought about the money and laid back and took it.

When the big bodyguard Nick wanted me for breakfast, I didn�t complain.  Maury must have been accustomed to breaking wills for he never raised an eyebrow when I let Nick fuck me.

Now that morning had come and they were done with me, I said to Maury as I gingerly got dressed, �Is this when they find my body dumped by the side of a dirt road somewhere?�

His look was cold, like the look of a reptile eyeing its prey.  �That wasn�t called for,� he said.  �You got paid better than the usual overnight rate, I believe, and instead of thanks, I get this hostility, these insinuations.�

�Okay�Thanks�

�Tim and Nick will drive you back to the club, and your car.�

The big men never leered at me on the way to the club.  They�d fucked me like a blow-up-doll but now they were back to being all business.  I kept quiet.

For the next two days I had trouble walking.  It hurt to take a shit.  I begged off my next dancing nights until I figured I could do it without dying.  My first night back at the club I was tactfully told to cover up a few bruises with stage make-up.  It really wasn�t all that tactful really: �You need to hide those, honey.  The patrons will think you�re a crack whore or something.�  This was a classy place, after all.

I danced.  I stripped.  I put on a good show.  I was beginning to move on beyond my night with Maury and his goons.  The money came in handy, but not the pain that came with it.  Then one night I spotted the mobster in the audience.  He waved a hundred before placing it on the railing.  Some of the other guys stopped ogling me long enough to eye the scary man with the dough.  They knew the score, and so did I.  I didn�t want to touch his money and dance for him, but what could I do?  The money; wasn�t it always about the money?

Maury got a show commensurate with the cash he put on the railing.  I wiggled and jiggled all my charms for him, all the while hoping he and his goons wouldn�t be waiting for me when the night was over.

When I got no note on a bill, I began to think I was off the hook, for being wanted by Maury was indeed a �hook� that this fish might not be able to squirm from.  I had Bud walk me out the front door just in case, but one of the bodyguards (Tim?) was waiting.  He gave Bud a menacing look before taking me by the arm and walking me toward the recognized Bentley.  �The boss would like to see you again,� he said flatly.

�You too?� I asked angrily.  �Are you gonna rape me again?�

He didn�t answer.  He simply forced me inexorably along to his boss�s car.  When I got in I immediately said to Maury. �I�m on call now?  You need to get laid and, voila, here I am?�

�Why take that tone with me?� he said, and I swear I heard the hiss of a snake in there someplace.  �You�re a prostitute, correct?  You accept money for sex.  I paid you handsomely.  You provided your service.  What�s the problem?�

The other big dude (Nick?) had started the car and he was already driving us away from the club.  It seemed I had no say in the matter.  �You drugged me,� I cried out.  �You hurt me.  Anally.�

�I must apologize for my over-enthusiasm.  In my state of enhanced ardor, shall we say, I imagined that a woman in your�er�profession would be acclimated to the Greek�method.  On the �drugged� part I need not apologize.  You were at an extremely high level of arousal, and your climaxes were extraordinary, if I may say so myself.�

He was right, and I knew it.  Whatever the female-Viagra-like substance had been, it did send me places I�d never been before, though it had no effect on my sphincter.  And even if I decided to try the drug again, there was one thing I had to make clear.  �No anal.�

�Of course, dear lady.�  He smiled   �I assume you are okay with being my date tonight?�

�You practically kidnapped me, so I guess I am.�

At the house, I did a striptease for him like the first time.  Without a word, he placed a thick envelope on the table in front of me.  Unlike that first time, he was already out of his clothes and sporting an erection.  I�d gulped down a glass of champagne he handed me, figuring the orgasm-enhancing drug was in there.  By the looks of his erection, he must have taken his too.  What the hell.  I was inexplicably wet when he carried me to the bed and easily slid into me.  His pace was slow and measured, yet I was soon cumming as if he�d been fucking me like a madman�a well-endowed madman.  My screams echoed through his house.  My tremors were earthquakes.  The memory and fear of last time should have kept me from enjoyment, but the drug did its thing.  I came and came and came.  I think he did too, but whatever ED drug he took kept him hard and he kept going, giving me one orgasm after another until I was crying, not able to take any more.

Lying in bed afterwards, he asked me if I wanted a supply.  His proposal was to shift himself from being my john to being my dealer.  Would being my pimp be next?  �Is that your next racket?  Turn me into an orgasm-junkie?�

�You know, you�re just like your old man.  Bitching about everything.  Can�t you accept things and enjoy them?�

�That�s the second time you�ve brought up my father.  Did you know him?  Was he in one of your rackets?  Is that what got him killed?�

For the first time since I met him, he failed to return my stare with a steely-eyed one of his own.  �Let�s not talk about it,� was his only reply.  Instead he spread my legs and went down on me.  The drug was still working so it didn�t take long for his tongue and lips to push me over the edge.

�Ohhhhhhhhhhhh�I�mmmmmmmmmmmm cummmmmmmingggggg,� I cried, like this was my first time and was surprised by the orgasm�s impact.  He got on top of me, slamming into me like a wild animal, and only then did he answer my cry with one of his own.

�Me tooooooooo,� he crooned as he pulled out and gave me a surprisingly hefty cum shower.

Now finished, he unceremoniously turned the bedroom light on and stood over me, and that�s when I had the flashback, and knew why he looked familiar.  Years ago I�d seen him, younger looking yet surely the same man I�d seen that day hollering at my dad outside our apartment house.  Insight flooded in.

�Oh Maury,� I said.  �If you�re done, send in Tim.  I need it some more.�

He looked surprised by my plea, but he shrugged and called out for the big bodyguard in the next room.  Tim came charging in, probably imagining the worst, but relaxed when his boss told him what I wanted.  Maury left me and Tim.  The big man said, �You really want it�me?�

��Oh yes, I need it bad,� I said, rubbing my pussy as well as spreading the boss�s cum all over the front of my body.

He quickly undressed, and probably because of my semen coating, got me on hands and knees and did me doggie.  The drug sure was good, for despite my agitated state I still came before he did.  As he flopped to the bed, spent, I got up and moved slowly toward his clothes, trying not to make him suspicious.  �Be honest, Tim.  Has the boss killed people?�

Tim replied in a hushed voice, �He likes it, really.  He�d rather kill someone he�s pissed at, even if it gets messy, than let someone else do it.�

�That�s what I figured,� I said as I surreptitiously lifted his gun from its holster and hid it under my blouse I picked up from the floor.  �I�ve got to take a leak, but if you�re good, and still on that bed when I come back I�ll make it worth your while.�  I shook my assets as I left the bedroom, hoping the distraction would buy me some time and keep him there.  I walked through two rooms before I found Maury.  �You killed my father,� I said as declaration, not as a question.

I gauged his expression for wariness, but I didn�t see any so he had no inkling I had the gun hidden in the blouse.  Besides, my nakedness distracted him too.  �He had it coming.  He double-crossed me.  No one double-crosses me.�

�So this little game with me�the sex and humiliation�it is a game, right?�

�One I�m enjoying immensely,� he said with a grin, still distracted.

�Will you kill me too when you�re done with me?�

�Naw, �cause I may never be done with you,� he said, the cold grin still on his face.

One thing my dad taught me was how to shoot a gun.  I knew about safeties, and how to tell if a bullet was in the chamber.  I knew.

BLAM!  He never saw it coming, the grin replaced by a bloody mess.  �You killed my dad!� I said to the man who was already dead himself.  I shot Nick when he entered the room in a rush, and then I ran like hell through the house and toward the street.  What a sight I must be�a naked woman running while holding a gun.  I figured the odds were 2:1 that Timmy would get a gun and catch me before I ran into a cop, the only way I�d be safe, at least temporarily.  As I ran, the friction in my groin from my scissoring thighs was bringing me to another orgasm, thanks to Maury�s fucking drug.  Maybe when the bullet hits me, I�ll die a happy woman. 

I ran, hearing riffs of �Decadent Dance� in my head and an involuntary cry of utter climax from my lips.

 

Unlike some of my other stories, there are none of my fantasies in this one.  This was for pure entertainment, and I hope you enjoyed it.

 

Donna M.

© 2011

 

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