My wife’s control over me insures that I have no secrets from her no matter how depraved my hidden desires. This is the third in a series in which I confess my past experiences as a panty thieving college cross dresser. I have changed some of the names, but the rest of the confessions are, sadly, true. Please read the first two installments for context.


My two roommates from the year before had decided to study abroad for the semester in England. Because of their late decision, I had to scramble to find a place to live. I decided I would just try to find a place on my own and went back to school early to look. After a few days of looking, I found a one bedroom garage apartment that was owned by a professor in the business school. I moved in that day.

The garage apartment was furnished, and, like all good anal sluts, the first thing I looked for when I entered the apartment was something that would be fun to stick up my ass. I immediately noticed the bed posts at the foot of the bed. The posts had a large wooden tear drop shaped bulb on the top that was slightly pointed and then gradually expanded out and then narrowed before it met the rail. It was kind of shaped like a large wooden butt plug. I was fairly experienced at the pleasures of sticking things up my ass by that time, but the posts were big, more than 2 1/2 inches at the widest part. I am not saying that I made the decision to rent the apartment based on this feature, but it did not hurt (the decision that is, the bed post would actually hurt a lot).

Once I settled in, I began to enjoy the wonderful first weeks of school when everyone is glad to see each other, and there is nothing to do except drink and have fun. The first night at the fraternity house was great, but I drank way too much and woke up alone in my apartment at almost 11:30 the next morning with a huge hangover, edgy and horny.

My horny thoughts soon turned to my girly clothes, and I decided to dress up. I reached into my secret hiding place and pulled out the black silk stockings and the garter belt I had purchased from the cute sales clerk at home. I felt that familiar quiver from the pit of my stomach down deep into my loins, further enhanced by the edge of my hangover. I hurriedly fastened the hook and eye closures of the garter belt around my waist. Then I rolled up each of the stockings and carefully pulled them high up my legs before connecting them to each garter by pushing the button up into the reinforced stocking top and hooking the metal clasp over it. I pulled the sexy black string bikini panties on over the garters. I stood and walked across the room feeling like a sexy vixen. The garters pulled tightly on the stockings as I walked, reminding me of my naughtiness with each step. I stretched out on my bed and pulled my legs up to grab my stocking covered ankles imagining tied like this, helplessly spread. There was nothing cute about this outfit. It was pure feminine sexiness, and I adored how deliciously slutty I felt while wearing the sexy ensemble.

As I got up to grab some lotion and tissues, I spied the bed post that had captured my attention the first time I saw the apartment. The possibility of taking the huge solid post in my young ass was mesmerizing. As mentioned above, it was more than 2 1/2 inches around at its widest point flaring out from the base for two inches to its maximum girth and then gradually tapering in to a rounded point at the top of its 6 inch length. It was bigger than anything I had taken before, but my hangover and my naughty lingerie had made me reckless with edgy desire. After all, the whole appeal of the garter belt and stockings in our culture is the possibility of access to a woman’s pussy and ass.

I quickly walked to the bathroom, grabbed some Vaseline, and greased up the bed post. I returned to the bathroom for some lotion and tissues to catch what I was sure would be a flood of cum. Returning to the bed, I pulled my dainty panties down my legs and let them hang around my left ankle as another reminder of my sluttiness. I rubbed a dollop of the Vaseline on my asshole to prime it for the invasion.

The top of the post was only 5 or 6 inches lower than my waist so I had to back up to it and lift my body up on my black smoky hosed toes to position my asshole above the post. Rising up on my stockinged toes, I rubbed my greased and puckered asshole slowly over the rounded tip of the post to relax the tight ring of muscle that guarded my entrance. Encouraged by the naughty sensation provided by the tip, I slowly began lowering my wanton body onto the post. As the post widened from the tip, I felt my asshole slowly stretch to welcome each millimeter of the wooden invader. This was not my first rear end rodeo so the first few inches were easy, expanding my asshole to about 1 1/2 inches. I paused to gather myself. My semi-hard cock was already weeping creamy tears in reaction to the approaching depravity.

I began to leave the safety of my butthole base camp and slowly continued impaling my ass on the post. My asshole spread to accept the widening wood. At 2 inches, I did not know if I could make it all the way as I paused to see if my body could absorb the pain. My head began to buzz with the endorphins released to battle the pain of the post stretching my asshole beyond its previous slutty limits. The pain began to ease, and I pressed my ass down, sitting on the huge post to force my asshole wider. I saw little flecks of light in my vision as I reached the widest part of the relentless wood. Just as I hit the point where my asshole could not possibly stretch any wider, I felt sphincter slowly begin to slide down the other side of the post, closing around the narrow base at the bottom of the bulb. I realized at that point that I had been so overwhelmed by the huge post in my ass that I had forgotten to breath. Taking quick deep breaths, I began to gather myself. My ass had never been this full. The unforgiving pressure owned my body and my mind as my legs went slack and all my weight rested on the post in my ass and the crossbar at the base.

After a minute or two, I gathered myself and reached down to the bed and grabbed some lotion. Squirting it in my hand, I grabbed my weeping wiener, which had softened with the overwhelming distraction of the anal invasion. I stroked myself, hardening gradually as the nerves in my cock fought with my overwhelmed asshole for attention. I stretched my black hued legs out in front of me, pointing my toes on the ground. The thrilling sight of the lady like sheer black softness of my stockinged legs and feet spiced my growing pleasure with added delight. I felt my asshole and prostate attempt to contract and spasm around the wood that filled my being, but my ass was so tightly stretched around the huge wooden post there was no way for my ass to contract. Their thwarted path was my pleasure as my nerves endings tingled from the tip of my cock to the depths of my bowels stretched mercilessly around the thick post. I pounded my cock toward climax as my body throbbed around the wood within me, with ecstasy its effect. I finally approached the crest of my orgasmic peak, and my mind was blown by the intensity created by the unimaginable fullness in my entire system. I stifled a scream as I came around the wood that was my master. My body squeezed the wood within me over and over again with pleasure pulses. Gradually, the spasms released me from their grip, and I came down from the heights of orgasm, exhausted, drained, and spent.

Down from the extreme heights of my orgasm, I was now just a boy in stockings and a garter belt with a bedpost stuck up my ass. I was so fully impaled on the post, however, that, despite the power of my orgasmic contractions, no more than a trace of come came out of my slit. I suppose all of my tubes were blocked by the enormity of the post in my ass. I now had to pull myself off. I gathered my strength and used my legs to lift my ass off of the post. My wrecked rectum offered little resistance as the post popped from my ass, leaving my ass gapping and my sphincter temporarily slack. I collapsed on the bed with my shrunken cock dribbling cum released by the removal of the crimping pressure of the post. My edge was gone, and I soon fell asleep, too tired to bother to remove my stockings.

As the first semester continued, I was growing increasingly bored with my existing stash of girly things. In spite of my regular dress up sessions and my ongoing anal affair with my bed post lover, I was constantly on the look out for hot girls on campus. I was looking for women to date, but, unlike most guys, I was also checking out their cute outfits, particularly when they wore tights or some other feminine leg wear or dance or exercise clothes. My body warmed with envy whenever I saw a girl wearing something that tweaked my kinky desire for girly dress.

My accounting class was one of the best spots to look at these beautiful women and their wonderful outfits. It was a 5:30 pm class twice a week, and the girls were often coming straight from exercise class. It was spandex heaven. Most of the girls wore shorts and t-shirts or sweatshirts over their leotards and tights or other outfits, but my imagination could fill in the rest if given a mere glimpse of shiny spandex. Throughout every class, I ached with desire to wrap myself in their girly delights.

One girl in my class particularly stood out. Suzanne was a tall dark-haired beauty from a wealthy New England family. Not only was she unusual in that she was not blonde like 75% of the women on campus, but she was also on the SMU Pom Pom squad, a dance team for basketball and football games that was normally the domain of blonde Texas girls. Suzanne was tall and graceful, and I loved watching her perform with the squad at athletic events. She was a great dancer and brought a flirty sexy attitude to the performances.

Suzanne apparently had dance class or Pom Pom squad practice before accounting class, because she was always wearing dance tights and some type of leotard under her clothes. She normally wore aerobic socks and shoes, and like the other girls she would usually wear shorts and a shirt over her leotard and tights.

One day about two and a half months into the school year, she came into class wearing a large long sweatshirt over white footed shimmer tights and ballet flats. Think Flashdance with a much more polished and classier touch. I have a thing for footed tights, but normally could not tell whether a girl was wearing footed tights when she wore socks so I was already beside myself with lust for Suzanne and for her clothes. I almost came when she sat down in front of me and her sweatshirt pulled up offering a brief glimpse of her hot pink leotard cupping her ass.

She pulled the sweatshirt down and settled in for class, and I settled in to enjoy the view of this magnificent distraction. A few minutes into class, she crossed her legs and slowly slipped her heel out of the back of one of her ballet flats dangling it by her toes, and she wiggled her foot up and down. It was almost like she was toying with me. It was incredibly hot, and I was now no longer paying any attention to the professor. I could almost hear the leather ballet flat rubbing against her tights as her foot bobbed up and down swinging the back of the dangling ballet flat back and forth on her shiny white coated toes.

Suzanne took off both of her shoes resting her tights covered toes on the tops of her shoes. Then, about halfway through class she completed her dance of torture, by pulling her leg up under her and sitting on her leg so her tights clad toes poked through the whole in the plastic chair back right in front of my envious eyes. I almost came as she curled her toes back and forth underneath the white Lycra tights right in front of my eyes, which were filled with lust either for her body or her leotard and tights or all of the above.

The class was over much too quickly. As the professor finished, Suzanne rose to leave. I smiled at her and mumbled hello, but could not muster more with my mind fogged by her unconscious dance right before my eyes. My serial masturbation sessions into the night could not drain the excitement from my mind and loins. Thankfully, this would not be my last encounter with her leotard and tights.

My apartment did not have a washer and dryer and public coin laundry places are depressing so I did my laundry at a large apartment complex less than a mile from campus where a lot of students, including many of my fraternity brothers lived. I could do my laundry and have fun hanging out with my fraternity brothers in their apartments.

One Sunday afternoon later in the fall semester, I was finishing the laundry at the apartment complex and had the strong urge to look for some girly gifts. After carefully looking outside to make sure no one would interrupt my perverted perusal of the dryers, I began my search. My heart raced and my cock tingled with excitement as I fumbled through the mostly cotton panties and socks in search of something to satisfy my girly desires.

In the second dryer, I struck gold (or hot pink in this case.) I found a shiny, hot pink spandex leotard and what appeared to be white tights. I did not have time to inspect my find, but shoved the leotard and tights into my bag. I gathered my laundry and quickly rushed to the car. Once safely in my car and out of view, I had to see what I had “found”. My hands were shaking as I removed the leotard from the bag. It was heavy, smooth spandex fabric that was very shiny. I prayed that it would fit. I hurriedly removed the tights from the bag to have a closer look. My cock jumped with excitement as I discovered that the tights were a pair of white Danskin shimmer tights, size large. They were fully footed. I rushed home to try on the delectable dancewear.

I arrived at my apartment and hurried inside, my heart racing with eager anticipation trying on my new find. I stripped. I pulled the tights from my bag and rolled one leg of the tights up with my hands. I pointed my toe and pulled the tights over my foot and up my leg. I performed the same girly ritual with the other leg and then pulled the gloriously smooth and shimmery tights up my legs and high up my waist. I loved the thrilling feeling of the tights compressing my cock and balls. I reached down and lifted up the hot pink leotard. Holding it in front of me, I stepped into the leg openings and pulled the leotard up my legs so that the panty portion firmly cupped my tights covered cock and balls. I pulled the rest of the leotard up my body and placed my arms through the arm holes. I was in a dancewear dream as I adjusted the leotard. It fit me, but was very tight, which only added to the thrill and kept my cock pressed into a feminine mound under the shiny pink fabric. I turned to look in the full length mirror on my door. The leotard had very high cut legs that make my legs look amazing and miles long. It also had a high neckline. It was beautiful. From the neck down, I looked like a dancer–feminine, soft, and extremely girly.

I sat down on the floor and lifted my legs up, pointing my toes and reveling in the warm glow of femininity triggered by the tights coating my legs in a shiny white glow. As I stretched and posed in front of the mirror, I was lost in a pink cloud of delight from my new outfit. I continued to wear the tights and leotard all evening. I felt strangely complete as I moved around the apartment in my girly dance clothes, hanging out like a cute college sorority girl. The tights and leotard hugged my body. It felt amazing. I thought about cutting a hole in the crotch so I could access my cock, but the tights were too beautiful to be marred, so I just enjoyed the sexual tension from the unsatisfied edge created by the leotard and tights.

Lost in my hot pink cloud, I suddenly realized it was now late in the evening. I had an 8:00 class in the morning, but I wanted to cum. I grabbed my lotion and some tissues and climbed into bed still encased in my spandex splendor and mesmerized by the titillating feeling of my tights covered legs sliding beneath the sheets. I had planned to enjoy the luxurious feel of the leotard and tights between the sheets before pulling down the tights to jack off. Unfortunately, I fell asleep floating on a cloud of girly femininity. I woke up to the wonderful feeling of my tights covered legs sliding against the soft cotton sheets, but with my alarm clock screaming.\

“Oh shit, its 7:25,’I yelled as I jumped from bed still wearing my girly dancewear. I stripped off the leotard and the tights and jumped in the shower, sadly postponing my much needed release so I could make it to class.

After finishing my classes for the day, I planned to rush home and relieve the intense edge remaining from the night before. On the way home, I realized I had left one of my books over at my friend’s apartment when I was doing laundry. I went back to his apartment, retrieved the book, and was walking back to my car. However, I could not resist the pull of taking another quick peak in the laundry room to see if I could add to my collection. When I entered the laundry room to take a look, I saw a note on the dryers that said: “Missing, a hot pink leotard, Suzanne, Apartment 223.”

It could not be the same Suzanne. I had to know, so I went back to my friend’s apartment and asked to see his student directory. I looked up Suzanne’s name and confirmed that the apartment number on the sign was her apartment. I felt the terrible guilt of stealing Suzanne’s leotard and the conflicting thrill of knowing that I had spent the last evening prancing around in the very same hot pink leotard and white tights that had gripped Suzanne’s smoking hot body as she danced. I thought about returning it, but was too scared I would get busted and too addicted to give it up.

While I had managed to get over any guilt from my previous thefts and would in the future, Suzanne’s note shocked my conscience, so I felt penitence was appropriate. On the way home, I thought about my misdeed and decided that I would not allow myself to touch my cock on any day or night Suzanne’s leotard and tights touched my body. Given my love for having as many orgasms as I could flog out of my cock every day, I suspected this would greatly limit my use of the looted leotard and tights

I arrived back at my apartment, quickly undressed, and again grabbed the lotion for a jack- off session to dull the edge. I could not stop thinking about the fact that I had the very same sexy leotard and tights that Suzanne wore when she unknowingly tormented me with her spandex clad beauty in accounting class. I put the lotion down and looked over at the leotard and tights still hanging over the chair where I had stripped them off in a rush that morning. I was torn between my desperate need to have an orgasm and the delights of Susanne’s wonderful leotard and tights.

Despite the fact that I knew I could not touch myself if I put them on, I quickly stripped naked and carefully put on the tights. My stomach fluttered with excitement as I pulled the tights up my legs and high up over my hips, stretching them almost to my chest. Watching in the mirror, bent over and stepped into the leotard, pulled it up over my tights covered lower body and placed my arms through the straps, adjusting it so I again looked like a well put together dancer.

I spent the rest of the evening lounging around my apartment and studying in the lovely leotard and tights. I felt extremely feminine and girly as the Lycra and spandex massaged my body. The freedom of movement in the leotard and tights and the warm tingle in my loins had my body buzzing. I tucked my tights coated legs under my ass on the couch while watching TV. I imagined Suzanne lying around her apartment after Pom Pom squad practice or dance class and longed to come closer to the girly joys of her beautiful body and flirty personality. I slid my heel under the leotard covering my ass, enjoying the pressure in my orgasm deprived state as I rocked my asshole back and forth over my tights coated heel. I wanted desperately to come, but had to keep my promise to remain chaste. I could not wait until the next day so I could stroke myself to the point of sweet release, but my addiction would deny me again.

Joe and Maya hadn’t seen each other since she dropped him at home the Saturday afternoon after the Friday night and Saturday morning reunion. Unfortunately only via speakerphone late Saturday night had Maya joined her lovers pleasuring each other. It had to be late since she worked stripping earlier. And she had to join them due to immense horniness albeit unfortunately in her bedroom miles away. When all had recovered their breath that night she invited him to her apartment after he worked Monday.

And so Monday evening Maya wrapped around Joe as soon as he arrived in her basement apartment, only separating to remove clothing before he held her firm round little butt cheeks in his hand and thrust deep as she could take and rapidly into her frothing cunt, banging her back against a wall that helped take some of her weight. As they climaxed together even the wall couldn’t help hold her. They collapsed onto the floor still with him embedded in her shooting the last of his seed inside her, their mouths sealed together like their groins.

Only when his cock loosened in deflation becoming flaccid and slipping out letting the combined juices from her cunt ooze onto the floor did their lips part to allow their laughter to fill the room.

And then he stiffened up in all ways except for his penis.

“Joe,” she murmured. “It’s okay.”

“I know,” he replied softly and tightly. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t make me slap you.”

They chuckled, though his was noticeably stiff.

Sighing, she lifted off him, kissing the top of his head. “I have something for you,” she said. “Why don’t you get dressed?” She headed into her bedroom.

“Okay,” he gulped.

When she returned fully clothed, he as well, she led him to her couch. “Sit,” she ordered. She held a glass of water in one hand and two small round objects in the other and with beautiful grace managed to straddle his lap facing him. “Open,” she told him, gesturing to his mouth. “Stick out your tongue.” She placed the white pills onto it and handed him the water. “Drink.”

After drinking, he asked what it was.

“Percocet,” she told him.


“I got to like it when I used it to combat the pain of my boob job,” she told him. “Insisted I had residual pain to renew the prescription, but figured it would get suspicious if I kept that up, so I weaned myself off it and only take it when I need a dose of lovely calm.”

“I got prescribed Valium once,” he told her. “When my muscles hurt from the tension, and I got chronic headaches. It left me feeling sort of cottony and even worse, it left me feeling even more uncomfortable when it wore off.”

“This is different. This is an opiate,” she explained.

“Oxycodone,” he nodded. “I know.”

“Come on then,” she grinned, hopping off his lap. “Grab this.” She handed him another guitar case, this one more slender though heavier. Darting away, she returned with a stuffed olive green soft bag with a shoulder strap she lifted onto his shoulder. “And this.”

“What’s going on?” he asked.

“A surprise,” she smiled.

They stopped at a Middle Eastern restaurant on a prominent corner in South Minneapolis. “Guard the stuff,” she said before kissing him quickly and darting into the restaurant. It seemed longer than the fifteen minutes it took her to return with a full white bag of food. She fed the meter and opened the trunk, pulling out her acoustic guitar case. “Lock the door and grab my stuff,” she ordered him. “It’s only a half block away.” They crossed the two main streets and stopped at a non-descript screen door between storefronts. Setting down her guitar case, she opened the door and the wooden door behind it revealing a hallway angling around a large metal door. “Go on in,” she said.

After she grabbed her guitar and set it by the metal door, she opened it to a set of steps. A splash of cymbals could be heard. “Go on down,” she told him.

He recognized two of the players; Sean “Spike” O’Connor, a pretty boy blond in his thirties on bass, and Jake “Spoon” Spooner, the rugged, dark dreadlocked, muscular drummer, about the same age as Spike. Both had impressively colorful tattoos on their arms. Both had been journeyman musicians involved in many bands, most notoriously “Plaid Cab,” that had featured a guitarist moonlighting from his internationally famous punk band, the “Reverants” AKA the “Vents” who had died from his weakness for narcotics, particularly a far too potent speedball, i.e. an injected mix of heroin and cocaine, a couple years before. Maya introduced them by their birth names.

“Hey Sean. Hey Jake. This is Joe.” The musicians nodded and Joe returned the nod.

Spike’s ever present smile widened. “Food,” he exclaimed.

“Yes, you flesh eater, I got you two two gyros.”

Spike put down his bass guitar and snapped the bag from her hands. She chuckled and shook her head. Spoon opened an old fridge and pulled out a handful of beer bottles.

“This is Annie,” Maya informed Joe, walking up to the thin, cat’s eye bespectacled girl standing behind a keyboard and kissing her briefly.

The strawberry blonde pale skinned girl nearly as tall as Carol but near skeletal responded with a shy, “Hi.”

“Come share the hummus with us,” Maya asked her.

“Okay,” the shy blonde squeaked. Her simple blouse and long skirt revealed when she stepped out from behind her keyboards along with her ponytail that allowed wisps of her wavy hair to float in the breeze her walk caused and the old fashioned glasses gave her a shy librarian look that somehow made her sexy.

On the ratty, overstuffed coach they sat at, Maya was sandwiched between Joe and Annie holding the pint container of hummus between her knees. All three dipped the soft, warmed pita into it–pieces torn off the round bread–and consumed a good portion of the garlicky, smooth mix of ground up chickpeas and sesame paste. Between chews and swallows they gulped down the smooth local lager from clear long neck bottles.

“Where’s Connie?” asked Maya.

“Fashionably late,” grumbled Spoon in his rough baritone.

“Errand,” Spike corrected in a much higher voice. “Should be here soon.”

“Soon” turned out to be just after everyone finished their meals. They heard the metal door open and deep, bass curses and objects bumping against walls. The deep voice surprised Joe, expecting a female voice. A large man as tall as Joe with long dark greasy hair and a goatee emerged at the bottom of the stairs, his hands and one arm filled with three instrument cases for three horns, one immense, which he kneeled down to carefully release onto the ragged and thin carpet on the floor.

“Conrad, this is Joe.” Maya introduced. Joe felt the strength of the man in the handshake.

Joe saw the three male musicians nod at each other. “Be right back,” said Spike as he led them up the stairs.

Maya sighed. “Spike’s family owns the building,” she explained, “and Spike lives upstairs.”


The music amazed Joe when it finally began. “Gong” was definitely the reference with its flowing jazzy intervals, very stony, yet with more of a bite, especially as the song built.

Along with amazing musicianship from all involved, he couldn’t help noticing the three men rubbing their noses every so often when they weren’t playing and saw the signs of heroin. He too rubbed his nose occasionally. He felt pretty stoned himself, but gently so, calmly so. He actually felt more comfortable than he ever had except when lost in the arms and inside the cunts of his two lovers recently.

When it ended, Maya asked Joe if he had any suggestions. That pleased him almost as much as hearing his lyrics involved in such a cool song. “Actually I do,” he told her. “But I’ll need a CD to illustrate. I only live about four blocks from here. If I run, it shouldn’t take more than a few minute to get it.”

Maya nodded and smiled. “Let’s work on a new song of Joe’s while he’s gone,” she said to her band.

He felt like he ran on a cloud when he ran home. In the bathroom mirror he looked at himself and his silly grin. He looked paler than he expected. Something else looked different. He leaned closer and realized despite the fairly soft lighting his irises could barely be seen they were so small.

Grabbing the CD he intended them to hear wherein a musician intentionally destroyed a CD to get accidental noises from playing it bringing a weird tension to the rhythmless music, he also scanned his shelf of blank books and picked out one in particular. Despite the number of them, his mind somehow enabled him to know which held the lyrics he wished Maya to read and hopefully transform into music. The song had a similarity to some of the Doors’ long pieces with an interlude of spoken poem which he hoped wasn’t as overdramatic as Morrison had gotten. He ran back to the rehearsal space.

The jaunty, quirky tune he heard when he descended the stairs pleased him. Again it reminded him of Gong at their most playful, but with a synthesis with Maya’s own style of melody. It transformed into a freeform jazz blast that lasted a bit too long but revealed again the amazing musicianship of all involved. The musicians laughed when they finally ended unevenly. They seemed to be enjoying themselves, always a good sign, especially from jaded musicians such as Spike and Spoon. Even Annie laughed freely.

“What you got for us?” asked Maya.

“I don’t know if Annie can do this on her synthesizer,” Joe shrugged, “but…” He shoved the CD into a large boombox Maya pointed at.

The musicians listened with more care than he expected. Annie played with knobs on her homemade synthesizer that rested at an angle to her keyboard. Clicks and groans came forth, and she somehow fed them into the keyboard creating samples for different keys.

“We’re not getting that weird,” Spoon finally said.

Maya shook her head. “I want melody, but when we get into these long spacey moments, we can expand the sounds horizontally so to speak, filling it in as thick as we want. It’s definitely got some tension to it.” She looked to Annie who nodded and smiled.

“I like it,” Annie said just loud enough to be heard.

The boombox happened to be next to Spike. In fact he owned it. When Spike gazed into Joe’s eyes, he laughed.

“What?” asked Joe.

“You’re pinned,” Spike answered. And Joe noticed Spike’s tiny irises. “You’re high.”

“Percocet,” Joe admitted.

“Cool,” said Spike with his inevitable grin.


“No, no, no, no, no, no, no!” Carol shouted late that night; actually early the next morning. The stud Joe had outdone himself making love to his women before her exclaiming. He fucked them silly, lasting far longer than he ever had before climaxing into Carol and, after taking more time than usual to recover despite two sets of hands and lips on his cock, even longer into Maya. When Carol asked how he seemed different, not just the endless fucking before cumming, but his incredibly relaxed nature and goofy smile when they shared a late meal together and a joint, even nodding off a couple times, the last being awakened by kisses from his two beauties which led into the bedroom and the marathon fucks, Maya told her about the Percocet and thus her reaction.

“No Maya,” Carol explained. “I’m alright with pot. There’s something natural about the high and if not done all the time it helps excite and sometimes brings insight and feels good. With you two especially because I never get that paranoid feeling I get sometimes when I’m not with the ones I love. The same with alcohol. Occasionally but not daily is great for loosening up bodies and tongues. But when you get into chemistry, cocaine or heroin or Percocet or whatever, it’s never good except to numb. They’re poison. They weaken you and transform you into…nothing.”

“What are you talking about?” Maya replied. “Have you even tried it?”

“Sure, when I got injured, twisting my ankle something awful, but only until I didn’t need it; only for a couple days. I just felt rung out from it.”

“It feels good,” Joe murmured.

“But it’s all you’ll want,” Carol argued. “Your life will become that inert feeling or the wish to gain it again. You’ll lose all ambition.”

“Hey, I’m only a high school graduate who works in a record store,” Joe retorted with a wry grin. “I’m not all that ambitious.”

“You should be,” said Carol. “You’re a powerful dancer.”

“Not to mention an incredible lyricist,” Maya added. Carol smiled at her when she added to her argument. “What? I still think he needs relief from his ‘burlap’ condition,” Maya told Carol.

“Is that ambition, though? Or is that talent that somehow nature bestowed on me,” Joe countered. “And what of it? I’m in a small if brilliant regional dance company and you know yourself Maya that too few great rockers ever get beyond the local scene. Ambition only runs into walls eventually except for a handful of successes. I mean more than half your band’s junkies, and…”

“What?!?” Carol screamed. “Let me see your arms, Maya.”

Maya laughed. “You’ve seen my arms and the rest of me.” She showed Carol the hollows of her elbows showing no tracks. “I hate needles,” she admitted.

“They’re great musicians, Carol,” Joe said, “but they know they have nowhere to go. So they get high and strung out and it lets them feel…”

“Nothing,” Carol finished.

“Exactly,” Joe nodded.

“Joe,” Carol sighed, “I’m sorry for this painful self-consciousness or whatever, but it’s a part of you as much as your dancing and your writing and I bet it feeds those talents.”

Joe could only nod.

“But…” Maya began before pausing to collect her thoughts, “I hate seeing him building that wall of tension and climbing behind it. I hate it! And how do you know it would be so harmful to him? You can see how…free he is.”

“I just know,” Carol replied, her head bowed sadly.

“You said you had Percocet, and that’s chemical, but have you tried it at its pure form? Opium?”

“No,” Carol admitted. “But I’ve heard of those dens in China where addicts can’t even sit up from their beds.”

“It’s all about moderation,” Maya argued. “Just like you said about pot and alcohol. I get high sometimes. Joe can too.”

“Maybe,” Carol sighed.

“Let me give you the experience of it. Just a one time thing or maybe very occasionally. It’s fucking expensive after all.”

“You have some?”

Maya nodded.

“I’ve got to sleep,” Joe murmured. “I’m up in…shit…three hours.”

“Sleep, lover,” Maya smiled kissing him on his forehead. Carol kissed him there too. “Come on Carol,” Maya said. They left Joe to sleep, which he did almost immediately.

When he awoke, blurry and hazy as if inside a cloud of cool smoke, he stumbled into the living room to find his lovers wrapped around each other under an afghan exhaling a quiet counterpoint of snores. On the low coffee table sat tin foil blackened at the center and a copper tube about six inches in length and a half inch wide. Joe lifted and sniffed the foil and smelled the sweet residue still lingering.

“Opium,” Maya explained, startling Joe. “I wanted to give a taste of opiates in pure form to Carol.”

“Did she like it?”

“Unh-hunh,” Carol breathed, stretching under Maya. “Felt wonderful, like riding a cloud. Luckily it’s too expensive to get addicted.”

“I just got a little from Spike,” Maya explained. “He’s got all kinds of connections. When I told him of my prescription version of what he takes up his veins and that I could never do that, after he cringed with the thought of burning heroin, which I guess you can do but its wasteful and harsh, he was nice enough to sell me a ball of the opium, barely a thimble full really and it cost me a hundred bucks. I managed to save a tiny bit for a special occasion.”

“So…No more left?” Joe asked, the need barely hinted at but there. His ladies looked at each other. Carol had a more serious expression than Maya’s, a sort of “I told you so,” look and Maya shrugged.

“Sorry Joe,” Maya replied. “I did plan on giving you that last taste, but Carol’s…attitude changed my mind. And it’s rare. I’ll let you know if I can get some more.”

Joe nodded. “I better get ready for work.”

“I’ll make coffee and toast bagels,” said Carol slipping out from the afghan and from under Maya, revealing a cute white with light pink and pastel blue little polka dots pajama top not quite long enough to cover her black bikini cut panties. “You go take a shower. There should be a spare toothbrush in a top drawer of the sink cabinet and a disposable blade for women, but I’m sure it can handle a man’s beard.”

“Thanks,” said Joe smiling at her and at Maya sitting up on the couch and revealing another of Carol’s cute pajama tops, this one with bunnies, that draped much lower on her like a mid thigh dress.

Having showered and changed into his uniform of black t-shirt with the record store logo and black jeans (his choice) and scarfing down a bagel and cream cheese sandwich and swallowing down Carol’s delicious and intensely strong coffee, Joe had a little time for hugs before rushing out the door.

“He didn’t tense,” Carol noticed. “Maybe he’s comfortable with us.”

“Or maybe it’s residual from the Percocet,” Maya opined.


Tension returned with a vengeance once blurriness cleared his mind. He used it at dance rehearsal and released it afterwards when, exhausted, he bedded down with Carol after only a couple kisses, although they had been heartfelt and comfortable. He awoke with the intense pleasure of Carol sucking his morning wood and soon fed her cum with a roaring groan. The bliss he coasted on afterwards that made him want to linger in her soft bed in her soft embrace had to be fought through because he had to get to work and he wanted to reciprocate his pleasure on her tasty quim before hauling ass again out the door. He managed to bring her a good orgasm, nothing equal to the one she had given him, but she felt sated and he enjoyed giving her that both in loving her flavor and witnessing her orgasm.

Another busy day followed what with Maya inviting him to a rehearsal of her band immediately after work before heading to the West Bank for more dance rehearsal. At least he had slept long and well the night before.

Having gotten a ride from a fellow worker, a pretty brunette lesbian of indeterminate body shape what with her loose, manly clothing, a fellow worker more than a friend who had attained a fairly large following as a bluesy rock belter, and she was even nice enough to let him stop at his apartment to collect another blank book and a change of clothing before dropping him off at Maya’s, Joe arrived unexpectedly early. He had to wait a couple minutes after shouting his name at her door before Maya opened it wearing a robe and nothing else.

“I was about to take a shower,” she explained.

“I’ll wash your back,” Joe smiled.

“Among other things,” Maya replied huskily, rubbing his crotch and the rising lump there and kissing him with all her might. “Get naked.”

Once well scrubbed, especially her breasts and ass and his cock and balls, he knelt between her legs and tasted the second pussy that day, different but just as delicious. He didn’t have time to tease, something he loved to do to intensify a girl’s climax. He hadn’t had time for Carol either. He promised himself he’d make time for both of them that night, as Maya planned to be at dance rehearsal and after.

As it turned out, Maya didn’t even want him to finish her off with his mouth. Climbing near orgasm, she moaned, “Fuck me, Joe!” and pulled her pussy from his mouth. He stood and lifted her by her taut little butt cheeks and she aimed him in and he pulled her onto his shaft filling her to capacity, stopping only when he felt his head bounce against her cervix.

“Fuck me Joe,” she murmured again, her mouth near his ear so he could hear her over the noisy shower.

It took all his strength but it felt heavenly as he swung her into him and away as if she were a flesh and blood pendulum, her eyes wide staring into his. He felt her narrow tunnel causing friction, every nuance of it, more than usual for some reason. He could tell she was near, and when he penetrated her anus with his middle finger while the rest of the hand kept its hold on her, he saw the tightening of her face as pleasure contorted it and felt the flutter of her cunny surrounding his cock.

“Cum…Joe!” she moaned.

He had held back as much as he could, so her permission opened the channel gates and his semen gushed forth.

“God!” she trembled.

“Fuck,” Joe agreed.

The rush of it nearly sapped the last of his strength. Somehow he held on, holding her against him through his ejaculations and her own weakened arms around his neck. In fact the inevitable softening of his cock allowed their groins to crush together without worrying about bruising her cervix.

The burlap returned in force while Joe waited for Maya to put the finishing touches on her face. She knew it immediately when she saw him.

“Joe,” she murmured, clasping his resistant hand forcibly and threading fingers through his.

“Sorry,” Joe murmured back.

At the band rehearsal while the others settled down for another Mediterranean feast, Joe whispered into Spike’s ear. Spike nodded and whispered back. The blond bassist excused himself for a few minutes. When he returned he nodded to Joe.

Joe didn’t need it when the rehearsal ended because of his elation having another of his songs settled into an exciting cohesion and one more began to be worked on. But he still felt eager and nervous when he told Maya that Spike wanted to show him something and headed up to Spike’s apartment with a skinny, pale man who had arrived late in the rehearsal.

With Joe’s pinned and glassy eyes and his relaxed and vacant expression, Maya knew her suspicions had been borne out. “Carol’s going to kill me,” she muttered.

“What?” asked Joe lazily as they drove to his dance rehearsal.

“Show me your arm, Joe,” she said.

The puncture mark couldn’t have been more obvious in the elbow hollow of his left arm.

“Damn it, Joe!” she groaned. “Couldn’t you have at least snorted it?”

“Spike said that would be a waste,” Joe replied tightly. “Pull over. I think I’m going to be sick.”

She managed to find an alley to turn into and Joe immediately jumped out of the car and barfed beside a garbage bin.

“Here,” Maya sighed, handing him a wet wipe. “How do you feel?”

“Surprisingly good,” he replied, wiping his lips.

“You have more?”

Joe nodded. “Spike recommended doing half a bag.”

“So you have half left?”

“One and a half,” Joe replied.

Maya sighed.

At rehearsal Joe moved freer than he ever had before. He had lived with his tension throughout his experience as a dancer from his first dance class and had channeled it so it did not appear as tightness. He had learned to keep his shoulders down instead of lifted up by the tension of neck muscles which too tense dancers tended to do marring their movement. He flowed so much easier. It felt wonderful. And yet…

“Something’s missing, Joe,” his best friend noticed.

“I feel really good,” Joe responded.

Randy shrugged. “I hardly notice you at all.”

“Carol should take focus,” Joe argued.

“Not that much,” Randy explained. “There’s a dynamic of shifting focuses as if you’re each trying to grab for it. It brings intensity to the piece. It’s missing.”

“Okay,” Joe replied.

Grabbing for that missing tension caused his shoulders to lift and tighten.

With an exasperated sigh, Randy cut the piece short. “Sit down Joe. Let’s work on the pas de deux with Morris and Trish.”

“What’s going on, Joe?” Carol asked him as they sat together watching Randy choreograph. “You okay?”

“I actually feel really good,” Joe answered.

“You don’t dance so good,” she said turning his face to hers. “You look kind of pale and…Fuck!” She looked back at Maya with a glare. “Did Maya give you more Percocet?”

“Why?” Joe said.

“It’s dark in here and your pupils are tiny like it’s bright day! Fuck!”

“Maya didn’t give me anything.”

“I’m going to talk to Randy,” she said.

“Go ahead home, you two,” said Randy after her whispers into his ear. “See you tomorrow.”

“You sure?” Joe asked him.

“Yeah,” Randy sighed. “Go home and rest.”

“I’m fine,” Joe argued.

Randy shrugged. “Go home.”

“Yes boss,” Joe grinned.

“And bring Joe back here tomorrow. I don’t know you.”

“Hunh?” Joe responded to Randy’s back.

“Come on Joe,” Carol said, taking his arm.

During the walk back to her apartment, Maya having parked there in anticipation of the evening, Joe watched two beautiful backsides shifting a few steps ahead of him and it made him horny. Though a dulled excitement, it caused half hardness in his jeans.

“I promise I gave him nothing,” Maya told Carol, grasping her hand and intertwining fingers. Carol looked at Maya’s expression. Maya had a poker face. Expressiveness only came when she came or when she performed an intense song on stage which Carol had glimpsed at when her lover performed one of Joe’s songs in her living room. Yet she saw sadness and transparency in her expression that made her believe her.

“Then what is it?” she asked Maya.

“Later. I want to make love to you and so does Joe. He told me he wants you screaming his name…again.”

Maya loved hearing Carol’s giggle and let the throaty noise relax her. She nudged her body against the taller woman and managed to bring their clasped hands to rub against her lover’s groin.

“Mmm,” Carol responded.

Maybe her horniness had kept her fears down. Carol needed her cunt filled by Joe’s thick cock and her mouth by his tongue and she needed to feel her tits brushed by Maya’s lips. She had needed it all day and the need only intensified when she saw her lovers arrive at rehearsal. His goofy smile looked glorious to her. She didn’t even dwell on the similar expression from the Percocet. His less intense though looser dancing didn’t bother her. He seemed more intimate that way though less powerful. Seeing the eyes pinned had disturbed her, but not enough to cool her flames. It just helped her to talk Randy into letting them go early so her horniness could be sated. She was that horny.

After Joe and Carol showered separately and thus much quicker than if they shared, the threesome smoked a joint and sipped Armagnac. At first Maya and Joe had sat together while Carol poured the fine grape liqueur. Then after kissing each of her lovers and taking a last toke from the joint, Maya left Joe and Carol to their own devices.

While finishing the drink and the joint, Joe and Carol kissed. Kisses became more intense and fingers stroked engorging places on each other’s bodies—nipples and labia and penis—even before they finished their intoxicants. Once the glasses emptied and the roach was abandoned, things intensified. Fingers traced damp and swollen pussy lips and gently pinched and twisted rigid nipples, both his and hers, and squeezed and rubbed an ever hardening cock.

Maya returned to them walking sinuously to the beat of slow jazz murmuring from Carol’s bedroom, Maya’s lacy, transparent black teddy well filled by her high heavy tits easily seen as was her narrow stripe of dark pubic hair. Whether the sensuous music starting or a sense of Maya’s sensuous presence somehow alerted them, both lovers witnessed that walk. Joe had actually ended the relentless kissing, lowering his lips to Carol’s nipples before the two noticed her approach. Maya’s audience chuckled, albeit lasciviously.

“Come,” Maya cooed, taking Joe’s hand in one hand while the other joined Carol’s at his cock which had at last firmed to complete rigidity.

White candles flickered on nearly every surface surrounding the bed. The room contained a sweet and musky odor like the remnant odors of an orgy sans the sweat. “Scented candles,” Maya shrugged. “The scent’s called ‘sex’.”

She shrieked when suddenly finding herself lifted off her feet as Joe broke her hold on his cock and carried her in his arms a moment before tossing her onto the bed. His tongue immediately began a swift journey up her inner thighs to reach her hot damp center. Carol silenced the shriek that had become a moan with her lips sealing Maya’s. The blonde’s long strong hands gently squeezed the dark haired beauty’s substantial tits, letting them slide through her fingers until only the nipples remained. Lifting a tit to expose its nipple from under the teddy, Carol moved her mouth down to suckle on it.

“God,” Maya moaned, getting attacked at both ends targeting her most sensitive spots. “Bring that cock here,” she breathed. Joe obeyed, turning his body around so that his feet rested on the headboard. Lying on each side of her, her lovers framed her like the bread of a sex sandwich, she being the meat, or in her case being vegan, the textured protein.

Taking the long thick cock in hand, she moaned at it like the glans was a microphone before, unlike a microphone, she took said glans into her mouth to suck. Her sucking and licking his thick plum ended up causing incredible intensity from his tongue, lips and fingers occupying her cunny which in turn intensified the surges of pleasure that continuously washed through her entire body. Carol’s mouth and fingers further amplified these ever heightening waves as caressed nipples sent shocks of pleasure downwards to where Joe did his brilliant work. When teeth added to Carol’s caresses, the result was explosive. Maya had to release Joe’s cock from her mouth to let out a scream.


The two weren’t finished with her yet though. They eased off for a minute before returning to their task. Maya also returned to hers sustaining Joe’s hard-on. She came quicker the second time. Less intense, yes, but more prolonged. She squirmed for nearly a minute within its thrall before lifting her feet to gently nudge Joe down and away from her way too sensitive clit.

“Your turn Carol,” Maya said, smiling loosely at her blonde lover before kissing her and guiding her over her body and grabbing handfuls of tit flesh. The women pressed together at their groins before Maya murmured, “Let me get this fucking thing off.”

Joe and Carol chuckled as Carol made room for Maya to remove the teddy, flinging it onto the floor. Maya smiled up at her lovers and their intimate position. Rising to her knees had placed Carol in Joe’s arms kneeling behind her. His hands caressed her tits while his cock slid between her thighs rubbing juicy cunt lips. His mouth caressed her ear and her neck while gazing down at Maya. Carol’s similar gaze ended when her eyes closed and she purred. Her hand took one of his and guided it to her clit, pushing fingers to rub there before grabbing his cock and pressing it more directly against her labia as it shifted back and forth.

Her eyes opened when she felt unexpected wetness at the back of her guiding hand. Maya’s tongue caressed Joe’s cock. Something delicious sat open and tempting in front of her, so Carol lowered her head until her tongue slid inside Maya’s cunt and tasted it, finding the flavor as scrumptious as expected.

Of course leaning down to taste brought her in perfect position for doggy style fucking, and Maya made sure it happened, guiding that plump purple plum into the velvety, voracious vagina.

“So hot,” Joe murmured.

“Mmm,” Carol agreed, her mouth full of labia.

“Ooh,” Maya moaned from the vibrations. Her fingers remained at the conjunction of her lovers, rubbing both Carol’s clit and Joe’s ever moving shaft. Wrapping her arms around Carol’s butt, she brought her tongue to play. Noticing the effort, Joe spread Carol’s legs wider as well as his own, lowering their genitalia to Maya’s oral caresses while bringing greater contact to the upper portion of Carol’s cunt, sliding nearly out of that vibrant tunnel so that his glans felt Maya’s tongue before pressing forcibly deep. He actually did slip out once, but Maya solved that. She kept her hand on his shaft even after guiding him back inside. This caused even more blissful friction for Joe, and the way his balls would end up bounced by her fingertips added to his bliss.

In this position, Joe powered through two body and cunt shivering orgasms before Carol collapsed, inert, onto Maya. “Is he still hard?” she asked her lover.


“Are you going to cum anytime soon, Joe?” Carol murmured.

“I’m close and yet I’m not,” he shrugged.

“Turn around and let him fuck you, Maya,” Carol ordered while carefully slipping out from between them.

“Where are you going?” Maya asked her while doing as commanded; her legs spread wide readying for his cock to split her open again. Joe grabbed a pillow and shoved it under her ass.

“I…I want anal,” Carol explained. “I’m going to prepare myself.”

Carol’s half grin met theirs before theirs shifted to expressions of profound pleasure as Joe pushed his big glans into Maya’s petite pink pussy. Carol’s grin broadened as she watched them become lost in each other’s bliss.

Joe leaned down, his knees spread wide spreading Maya’s even wider to produce an angle of thrusts that rubbed Maya’s clit. He captured Maya’s lips with his. His elbows supporting him enough to not crush the petite beauty still allowed his hands to caress those wonders of cosmetic surgery and the sensitive nipples that crowned them. By the time his lips took over for at least one of his hands in pleasuring a nipple, Carol, in the bathroom, had begun readying her anus. She had actually turned up the stereo to prevent the noises the enema would create.

When Carol returned 20 minutes later, Joe had an easy pendulum thing going with Maya’s body as his cock speared in and out of the petite, ecstatic pixie’s petite cunny. It seemed like only his butt cheeks would tense at the moment of deepest impact with a couple inches to spare to prevent bruising Maya’s cervix.

“Oh fuck,” Maya trembled, stiffening beneath his assault. Joe ceased the smooth swinging, replacing it with short staccato strokes at the deepest he could go, rubbing along the top wall of Maya’s cunt while his thumb pressed and rubbed at a place where her pubic bone and the base of her turgid clit shared space. Her orgasm acted like a seizure that lasted nearly a minute before Maya became inert and Joe eased back.

“Oh good, you’re here,” Maya mumbled and barely smiled at her blonde lover. “Can’t take any more.”

Carol leaned over her and kissed her softly before settling onto her knees. “Come here, Joe,” she said, opening her arms. He knee walked from between Maya’s legs until his torso met Carol’s. They embraced and kissed. When they released from the embrace, she handed him a tube of KY while her other hand took hold of his still stiff but flagging cock.

“Oil up my asshole, Joe,” she ordered him before her mouth descended on his penis and she tasted the mix of flavors coating it. Her mouth stayed with it as Joe sat back on his butt. He enjoyed the shape of her back curving to her hips and long graceful ass which spread open with knees creating near splits. Squeezing out dollops of the lubricant, he caressed the small asterisk between those taut cheeks as he applied slipperiness to that center hole. More dollops and deeper caresses slowly opened the hole more, especially when he added fingers to the application, maxing out at three which penetrated as deeply as possible.

He noticed her reaction to his anal play. Moans and indecipherable murmurs vibrated on his cock that had become as rigid as it ever had that night. “Give me the KY,” Carol murmured when her mouth popped off his cock. As she coated it with masturbatorial strokes, she shifted her body onto her back, finally resting her ankles on his shoulders as he hovered over her in all his tall splendor. “Push it in, Joe,” she muttered, leading his thick plum to her dilated hole that still looked small compared to it. “Gently.”

Joe did as commanded. “Ooh,” they both moaned when his glans slipped past the sphincter ring. “Keep going,” Carol murmured. “Slowly.”

“You okay?” asked Joe.

“Better than okay,” Carol grinned.

“You’re so…relaxed,” Joe noticed with a grunt. “And so tight.”

“S’good,” Carol grunted back. “So full. Keep filling me. God!”

It took a couple minutes of careful plunging and retreats, minutes that felt heavenly to Joe, that edged him closer to release than he’d gotten all night, before the base of his cock pressed through the incredibly expanded hole. “Fuck my ass, Joe,” Carol smiled a twisted smile.

Overcome by the gift of her anus, Joe smothered that smile in kisses as he eased out several inches and eased back in. “Mmm,” Carol purred into his mouth. After several of these careful thrusts she wanted more. “Fuck me harder Joe. Harder. Harder!”

He began intensifying and quickening his thrusts and soon slammed into her. His mouth continued kissing her until he needed too much oxygen and his breaths noisily occurred beside her ear as did hers his ear.

By then Maya had recovered enough to assist, taking over for Carol’s fingers that had been rubbing her own clit and plummeting into her wet depths. Carol had two fingers fucking herself and Maya replaced them with three and a thumb rubbing above Carol’s clit. Maya also suckled on Carol’s nipples, bringing teeth to chew on them when things got intense.

“Fuck…Me…Joe!” Carol screamed when the pleasure throbbed excruciatingly through her. Her whole body seemed to explode in bliss. It had never been so intense and bordered on being too much. The pleasure manifested itself physically with a deluge of sex nectar drowning Maya’s hand.

“Wow,” Maya responded in surprise, though her teeth clamped to Carol’s nipple muffled her.

“Cum…for…me…Joe!” Carol somehow muttered within her ecstasy. He obeyed immediately.

“Fuck!” Joe roared triumphantly when releasing a torrent of cum building for over an hour, the power of it causing him to undulate against his lover with each ejaculation.

Feeling her bowels inundated by spurts of hot semen and the expanding throbs of his glans pressing a thin membrane separation from her vaginal passage against her g-spot sparked one last shimmering addition to her climax of all climaxes.

Collapsing onto Carol, he did something he thought he’d never let himself do. Rolling off her onto his side, his penis already much reduced approaching normal flaccidity easily slipping out releasing an abundance of cum at the unplugging, he immediately became unconscious.

Even breath and a quiet snore made his condition immediately obvious. “Did he just pass out?” Maya exclaimed quietly.

Carol chuckled. “Give him a break, Maya. He’s been fucking us for more than an hour and a half without break.”

“Really?” Maya glanced at the clock. “Wow.”

“Come on,” Carol gingerly climbed off the bed and took Maya’s hand to coax her off as well.

“You okay?”

“Fine. Sore, but fine. It still feels like there’s a two by four up my ass.”

“I…never tried that. I’m so petite, I thought…”

“Nonsense,” Carol smiled, guiding her naked lover into the bathroom where she bent over and began filling the tub. “We get you completely prepped and relaxed and you’ll get that monster up your fundament. It’s really intense.”

“I noticed,” Maya giggled. “You actually ejaculated cum like a fountain. It was so cool.”

“Really? I haven’t done that in ages. It was the most intense ass fuck I’ve ever had.”

Adding bath oil and bubbles to the bath, the two waited silently for it to fill up except for a brief exchange.

“Heroin?” asked Carol.

“Unh hunh,” Maya replied, shying away from looking at Carol. “Two bags. He used half a bag.”

At last they climbed in, Carol first, her back to the nozzle, with Maya entering between her legs facing her. Soaping up a washcloth with body wash, Carol began washing her lover.

I pulled another mouthful from my Guinness and tried to concentrate on the paperback in front of me. The story was getting good, but how does a healthy straight male concentrate on Clancy with a gorgeous twenty-three-year-old nude doing her laundry in the next room?

Ronni’s tits and bright smile popped out of the laundry room. “Brent? Are we out of bleach?”

She owned some real beauties too, genuine works of art, slightly uptilted with deep red areolas topping creamy skin encasing firm and ample flesh. Maybe they weren’t as big as those of a centerfold, but they were for damn sure as pretty.

“Brent?” She singsonged with a smile, stroking strawberry-blond locks out of her face.

I scowled and shook my head to clear it. “Yeah, I used it up yesterday. I put it on the shopping list.”

Her nose wrinkled up and she did a little frustrated up and down bounce that did bad things to my moral fiber. “I needed it for the next load. Guess I can run down to the store.”

“Nah, I’ll do it.” It’ll get my mind off your tits! I fished for my keys and slapped to make sure my wallet was there.

“Thanks! You’re a pal!”

I’m a blueballed sucker, I retorted silently as I escaped Nude Hell. You knew damned well that jiggle would break down any possible resistance.

I could have tolerated a closet nudist as a roommate if she were a dumpy plain broad in her thirties. I’m good at ignoring the unpleasant. Ronni didn’t fit any part of that description. She surely knew it too. She had to know why she got all those tips while slinging beer and hot wings, and why cars slowed down while passing her. All girls built that nicely know.

The woman at the supermarket checkout scowled at me until I realized my eyes had been working as hard as a teenager’s to deconstruct her uniform and get at the goodies beneath. I escaped the store in considerable embarrassment.

Look, I never try to hide the fact that I like female bodies. Thing is, at my age I’m supposed to know how to do it in a more decent, appreciative manner, so that those who don’t mind can enjoy the attention rather than be annoyed. The girls who do mind can go to hell, but I had no idea on which side of that line the cashier was, since any woman who wasn’t working at a titty bar at the moment would surely object to the stare she was getting. Living with Ronni was totally screwing up my ability to interact with women normally.

And that, to my mind, was my actual problem. Ronni brazenly fucked with my mind daily, and it was beginning to influence me no matter where I went. I had tits on the brain like a fourteen-year-old boy.

When she first moved in, she’d acted completely normal. She made it clear she had no intention of being anything more than my room-mate. We set down strict rules of behavior, and I thought that was that. Two months later, she took a naked stroll through the house, just casually looking for some misplaced item. Why?

“I just felt like it. I like being without clothes but I don’t have the guts to go to a nudist club with a bunch of strangers. It’s okay here at home, ’cause I know you now.”

I thought she might have been coming on to me, but she clarified that quickly when I tested the theory.

“Keep a normal, discreet distance, Brent. I like you, and you have permission to go right ahead and enjoy the view, but I do not want to have sex with you.”

Then don’t hand out raging hard-ons, dammit!

I drove home in as bad a mood as I’d been in when I left. When I entered the house with my grocery bags, she was standing in the middle of the living room next to the stripper pole, and she was still completely naked except for earrings and navel jewelry. She’d shaved recently too, I noted.

She looked slightly damp… had she been using that thing? I had bought it and an instruction DVD three weeks prior as an attempted counterattack to her nude romps. The first time she saw it, I told her that if she insisted on behaving like a stripper, then she needed a pole. It was nice one, too, with bearings to allow it to spin and everything. I paid three hundred for it.

It was a total failure, of course. She wasn’t offended or embarrassed in the least. In fact she smiled and thanked me. The exact same sunny, innocent smile she wore now as she came up to take the bag with the bleach.

“Hi!” She greeted me brightly. “Thanks!”

As she sashayed away, her equally luscious rump now enticing me– compact, but round and equally firm– she added, “Don’t forget to put the receipt in the box.” Meaning the metal box where we kept household receipts marked with who paid for them. We totaled them up at the end of the month and whoever paid less paid half the difference to the other.

I went to put the groceries away and returned to the kitchen table and my Clancy novel, wondering if my Guinness had gone flat. An experimental sip told me it was tolerable. The washing machine started up and she reappeared, now standing in the kitchen, getting a glass from the cupboard.

Do women have any idea how sexy they are when they’re nude in the kitchen? It’s like man’s two greatest desires wrapped up in one beautiful package. Fuck me while I make your dinner, darling!

While she pulled the filter pitcher out and poured a glass of water, she asked. “Brent, I’m thinking the carpet in the living room needs vacuuming. Will it bother you?”

Hell, yeah it’ll bother me! “Go ahead.”

I had hardwood floors, but I had an oriental rug in the half of the oversized living room where I actually had furniture. It was under a heavy coffee table and too big to easily haul out and beat, so we used a vacuum cleaner on it. The kitchen table sat in a nook that extended from the living room, so I would have a full view of the action.

She flashed her bright smile and went to haul out the vacuum. I struggled vainly to get my mind back into the book, but once she turned it on, her body swaying back and forth in front of me, it was a lost cause. Within moments, I once again had an alert crewman on duty and coming to attention.

I sighed, put the book down, took a drink of my beer and decided, what the hell, I’ll just watch the show.

Of course I’d tried this before, hoping it would make her uncomfortable enough to go put something on. It seemed to encourage her instead. She smiled at me and kept going about her business. But since I couldn’t read anyway, why not?

Forgetting about how bothersome it was, I could sit back and just appreciate her. In the final analysis, she was simply a thing of beauty. With her clothes on, she didn’t seem terribly remarkable, but that was because she wore frumpy clothes and rarely wore make-up. It kept her from standing out. I figured this out once I saw her on the job, where she painted herself up just like any other girl on staff and transformed from unremarkable to unbelievable. I had never really thought before about how much our eyes are trained to expect cosmetics as part of the woman. We don’t know what a beautiful woman looks like without it, so Ronni looked ‘plain.’

Her body had no need of enhancement, by cosmetics or anything else. She had a strong way of moving, but not like a guy. More like a gymnast. Everything about her seemed to start from this core within her flat tummy and flow out from there, spreading gently down into medium hips and thighs that tapered into dancer’s legs, strong but feminine. Upwards that core flared into a taut chest and regal shoulders, with those gorgeous globes somehow blending perfectly with athletic arms. Top that with a completely uncomplicated smile and red-gold ringlets of hair cascading everywhere, and Ronni became nothing short of spectacular.

After a few moments, she noticed me watching and smiled. She also added a little extra sway to her moves. Because of the location of the electric socket, she ended up with the cord around the stripper pole, which would have leave her unable to reach the remained of the carpet. Normally, she would just pick the vacuum up and walk around it, but this time she grabbed the pole, lifted herself one-handed carrying the vacuum, and did a lazy circle just like in a titty bar. She dropped back down after one turn, having now successfully routed the cord to the other side of the pole.

I sputtered Guinness through my nose. The hell? That looked as if she’d been practicing… I shouted, “Have you been using that thing?”

So she didn’t have to shout, she turned the vacuum off, then gave me a impish grin. “I watched that DVD and tried it out. It’s fun, actually.”

The vacuum went back on and she continued, her lovely rear continuing to dance for me and her tits swaying with the motion. My cock fought to rip seams out of the crotch of my jeans. It was actually starting to hurt. Only my stubborn determination not to let her force me into permanent hiding in my bedroom kept me from fleeing. Those beautiful, nearly cellulite-free cheeks kept beckoning me and persuading me, and the pain kept getting worse.

Unable to stand it anymore, I undid my belt and fly. Just getting the thing free hurt, but finally it stood tall, nine inches of pure man ready for action.

Of which there was none to be had in this room, of course. Still, I could relax and sigh in relief. I couldn’t leave it out like this, though. I had to figure out something before she looked…

Naturally, she spotted it at once. Her sparkling eyes gave my proud crewman an approving gaze. She raised a thumb and shouted, “Nice!”

Her attention went back to working around the end of the couch, the last bit of the job. Her simple smiling appraisal hadn’t helped one bit, of course. Made things worse, really.

After switching off the vacuum, she stooped to reel the cord up, facing me with her tits swinging tauntingly to the motion. I watched the display, in my opinion one of the sexiest positions a woman can assume, and something just clicked inside me.

“Fuck it,” I said, and started stroking as I watched.

She looked up to the sound of my voice and saw what I was doing. A slightly mysterious smile formed on her bow-shaped lips, a mix of her normal pleasure at my watching her and something else. Since it seemed like a question somehow, I answered, “If you’re going to insist on giving me hard-ons and blue balls, I’ll just go ahead and jack off when you do it. That okay with you?”

This was it, I told myself. I had found the thing that would be too much for her. She had to finally give up and finally start behaving with more modesty now. At least wear underwear or something…

“Sure,” she chirped simply, looking honestly charmed by the man who wanted to masturbate while watching her. She continued reeling up the cord and unplugged the vacuum, then added with a twinkle, “Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.”

Starting to get into it, with my pulse rate rising and my breath unsteady, I answered, “You fucking well know there’s something you can do to help!”

What I meant was You can wear clothes! but she took it a different way. “Brent, I mean anything that I can do from a discreet distance. Remember my rule.”

After a moment, something did occur to me. “Show me what you learned on that pole.”

Her eyes flicked over to it, then she grew a delighted grin and practically skipped over to the stereo. To my surprise, one of my Cars albums was already in the CD player. Reaching down beside the cabinet, she extracted a pair of clear plastic stilettos which she quickly slipped on. She began strutting around to ‘Let’s Go’, a song as old as I am, and way older than her. She was really doing it justice, too.

When she grabbed onto that pole, it turned magical. She whirled and backed into it, ass facing me, pressed into the pole. Her hips rocked, slinking up and down as she did knee bends. Spinning on the ball of her foot, she faced me, pole between her tits and her slender hands stroked it sensuously, as if she were jacking it off. She ended that with a stroke of her tongue, then began turning around it gracefully, reversing hands and direction from time to time, using different steps and moves to vary how she moved. This ended with her pressed against the pole, both hands gripping it above her head, as her eyes fixed on me in a bold, seductive gaze. My hand increased to full speed.

Once she began moving again, she leaned backward slowly and fluidly, her foot slipping out as her hand slid down the pole and she arched her back. Her hair pooled gracefully on the floor, then her head touched. She slipped onto her back from there, taking a moment then to do a couple ripples of her abs and pelvic thrusts. Her lips parted and her face tightened as she did this, making her look for all the world like an invisible lover was thrusting into her as she laid there. I was stroking at the same rhythm, imagining being that lover for her.

She rolled sideways so she could run the toe of her shoe up the pole as she raised her leg. I watched that beautiful gate open up and jerked while the tongue in my mind slid down that leg to find the treasure. She then grasped the pole and with catlike motions hand-over-handed her way up it until she was on her feet once more, then kept climbing, pulling herself several feet off the floor. My living room has a vaulted ceiling, so she had a full twelve feet to work with.

After a spiral back down with her breast crushed against the pole, she repeated the backward lean and slide down the pole, but starting with her back toward me this time, so that I watched those beautiful breasts appear over the top as she arched her back. Once she’d repeated the simulated sex, she spun around on her butt and I was staring right into a mouthwatering, spread-legged view of her smooth-shaven sex with one leg hooked on the pole and her back on the floor, as if she were waiting for me to take her. I was a millimeter away from acting on it when I realized she was waiting for the next song to start.

“Since I held you” began, and she slowly pulled herself up, staring straight at me the entire time with come-on eyes of a power level I’ve never encountered anywhere outside a gentleman’s club. Once up on her feet again she went into a hip-rocking sway and occasionally threw in another pole move, but she seemed mostly interested in just displaying herself and dancing at this point. By that time I didn’t give a damn. My crewman was prepared to do his duty and the cannon was locked and loaded. The temptress gaze stayed fixed on me until I came, when it dissolved into a look of almost childlike delight at what she’d accomplished.

As I recovered to the tune “It’s all I can do”, she stood leaning against the pole, one arm gripping it over her head and the other toying with her hair. She gave me a playful smile and bit her lower lip. “How’d I do?”

“You did very, very well,” I assured her, my pulse rate still pounding and my breath still ragged. I wondered what I should do about the mess but before I could decide, she was already headed to the kitchen. Those exquisite hips again passed within mere feet of me.

After returning with the paper towels and handing them over, she leaned on the side-chair opposite me and watched me clean up.

“You learned all that in three weeks? Just from a DVD?” I needed to put things away, so to speak, but I was too amazed with what she had just done to worry about it. I was also starting to harden up again, seeing those very moist lovelies hanging just a few feet away.

“That was all just basic stuff. There’s a lot I can’t do yet. The butterfly, the inverted stuff…” She leaned across to take the roll back and collect the soiled towels. The way she handled my cum without hesitation was strangely erotic. Did she just not care about what was on the towels, or was she purposefully continuing the titillation?

“I’ve been practicing every day while you’re at work. I figured if you spent that much money on me, I oughta use it. I actually completed the DVD in a week, then I found a school that teaches it. I’ve taken five lessons so far. The instructor says I’m a fast learner. All that ballet I did is probably helping.” She giggled as she tossed the soiled towels in the trash. “She says I should consider a change of careers.”

I nodded, “She’s right. You’re good. I hear it pays a lot better than a sports bar, too.”

She smirked, clearly not able to take the idea seriously. Well, I suppose most girls wouldn’t.

“How’d you end up with the Cars? Kind of before your time.”

“My instructor gave me a list of albums, stuff she had in the studio, so I could pick one and buy a home copy. I recognized the title from your collection.”

After setting the towels back in their place, she sailed past me again, grabbing the vacuum to carry it back to the hall closet. Then she paused and gave me a very honest, frank look.

“Brent? Next time you jack off, get naked for me, okay? I would like that. Plus you won’t mess up your clothes.”

And thus, yet another of my attempts to change her strange household habit went badly awry.

She left for work soon after. Her job ran four to close Wednesday through Sunday . I spent my Saturday evening in relative peace, watching some half-assed basketball on TV as performed by our sorry excuse for a franchise. I piddled around on the web after that, until she came home. One of the cooks had a thing for her, so as usual a takeout box chock full of leftover hot wings slid onto the coffee table.

She kicked off her shoes and collapsed with her head ending up next to the computer desk looking up at me, strawberry-blond curls draped over the arm of the couch.. A finger hooked some of it behind her ear, and her voice took on a flirty tone. “I wanted to dance again when I got home… but I’m beat, sorry. Forgot it was Saturday night.”

I looked over at her and twisted my lip, trying to find some way to figure out what was going on behind those hazel eyes. “You really enjoyed that, didn’t you?”

“Well yeah,” she answered. She stretched her arms upward lacing her fingers together above her and held the pose for a few seconds. After release, she added. “It really is a blast. It’s like a mixture of ballet, clubbing and climbing around on a jungle gym. Makes me feel like a kid.”

Not exactly what I meant. “Mm. I meant having a guy watching you and jacking off.”

She considered me for a second, then said, “Yeah. It’s a compliment, if you think about it, you know? Besides, I saw you enjoy something for a change. You’re always scowling.”

I guess the whole thing relocated me to a completely different moral standard. The next thing that came out of my mouth was something I never would have said to a woman before that moment.

“I wish I could do something to make you masturbate. I would love to return the favor somehow.”

“You just want to see me masturbate,” she decided with a smirk. “Guys love watching us do that, right?”

Honesty being the best policy, I answered, “It’s true. I would absolutely love to watch you masturbate.”

That would have pretty much ended the conversation, one would think. Instead, she gazed at me steadily for several seconds, contemplating.

Then she pointed her finger at my easy chair across the room and said, “We’re too close. Discreet distance rule. Over there.”

That caught me completely off-guard. Too surprised to do anything else, I stood and obeyed. Before I made it, she added, “Wait. Put on some music.”

“Cars again?”

She giggled. “No, that’s my dancing music. Pick out something you’d like for this.”

I put on Jon Hopkins Opalescence. It just seemed like good music to make love to. She closed her eyes as the slow dreamy synthesizer sounds began and her fingertips drew lazy circles on her “Max’s Sports Bar & Grill” tank top. When the jazz beat kicked in, she grew an indulgent smile and tipped her head back.

Fingers explored the soft contours of shoulders, ribcage and waist, ascended to lightly massage her breasts . Her lips slightly parted as she wandered off into some dream world by herself. The music certainly traveled with her; I could see the tempo in her movements and her breath. Her hands drifted downward once again, her fingertips spreading to massage her tummy, slowly working her top up enough to slip under.

Her hips began moving as well, squirming sensuously in time with the rest. Her hands finally went separate directions. The left drifted slowly to her breast, dragging her top up to expose her navel. She had changed jewelry before going out; a crystal heart dangle now decorated her tummy. Her right slipped down, undoing her shorts. She opened her legs just slightly to give her fingers access within.

I don’t know how long she stayed like in that pose, just fingering in tiny motions, only that it didn’t seem to matter much. She seemed to have hypnotized herself or sunk into a dream. For a while I began to wonder if she were actually on her way to falling asleep, but the next track started up, and she began swaying gently, still moving her finger in tiny circles.

Once the typical long Hopkins intro finished and the beat took hold again, she came awake. She inhaled a long shuddering breath and pulled herself into a fetal position, pulling off her shorts and dropping them to the side. I had always been able to see when she came home with her work clothes on that she wore no bra under them, so I was unsurprised to discover she wore no panties either. She spread her legs wide, letting me see her sex clearly, now aroused and swollen. Her body began rippling to the beat, legs, hips and chest alternately rising and falling in a sexual rhythm.

Pulling her top up over her breasts gave her better access. The flat, maidenly coins that normally tempted me had become hard cones, which she now milked and kneaded as she writhed erotically. Two fingers of her right hand, now slick and moist, began curling their way into her and her thumb began rubbing her clit. Her breath deepened and quickened, and began to include her voice, a soft cry somewhere between a whimper and a moan. Her skin glistened with perspiration, making her toned physique just that much more enticing.

Then she raised her head again, opened her eyes and looked right at me, her mouth now open in a lusty petition. I was stiff and horny and ached to go to her and slide my cock right between those begging lips, but the words, ‘discreet distance rule’, somehow stayed in my ears. I stayed put. I went ahead and got it out though, relieving a pained crotch I had almost not noticed because of the show she was giving me.

She smiled and stopped long enough to suck her fingers clean and pull her top the rest of the way off. She resumed, switching hands, and whispered, “Take ‘em off!”

I complied, undressing and beginning my own self-loving as I watched her work her hips more energetically. She watched me, biting her lower lip and smiling, clearly as happy to see me doing it as I was to see her. She occasionally licked her upper lip, or squinted as she felt some particularly good sensation. Then she would returned to the same expression after flashing a seductive grin. She continued like that until her brow furrowed and her expression changed, becoming rigid and open mouthed.

Her whole body shuddered and reared up, supported only by her feet and her shoulders, beads of sweat now visible rolling down her skin. After what seemed like forever just shaking with her back arched, she collapsed with a powerful gasp.

She fell sideways to lie across the couch., her tits heaving with the effort to regain her breath. I kept stroking, transfixed as I witnessed the metamorphosis from orgasm to afterglow. I’d never had the opportunity to just watch a girl in that state. I wasn’t precisely sure I had ever seen one orgasm so spectacularly, although to be honest, I’d usually been too close to the action in the past to have a good look. My crewman throbbed in response to the spent, languid beauty now stretched out on the couch, looking for all the world like some classical painting, her expression now the image of angelic peace.

The mysterious smile returned as she recovered and resumed watching me. She began massaging her tits, giving me an encore to finish to. She didn’t need to continue for long; I sent up a fountain of cum in very short order. I managed to keep my eyes open so I could see her when I did it. The delighted little girl expression reappeared, as if she had witnessed the most wonderful sight instead of a frustrated thirty-year old jacking off.

I lay back in the easy chair, my chest and belly covered with the stuff. After a bit, she got up and went to the kitchen. She commented as she returned with the paper towels, “We should have these handy for you in the future.”

“You planning to do this again?” I asked, my breath barely back as I accepted towels from her. She grinned as I cleaned myself.

“Of course. I’ll do this ever day if you want. Interested?”

“If I had my druthers, I’d rather ditch the discreet distance rule,” I admitted, giving her very close body a frank look. Somehow I still remembered not to touch, even though her sweat-covered skin was easily within reach. “It was very difficult to just watch you.”

She smiled sadly and shook her head as she held her hand out for the towels. I stiffened a bit again, thinking about her just taking my cum like that. “Brent, you mustn’t. You understand?”

I nodded. She brightened and turned to carry the towels into the kitchen. “I need a shower. No peeking!”

What a bizarre thing for a woman who just masturbated for me to say, I thought.

Sunday morning felt a little odd for me at first. I cooked up some breakfast and sat reading my paper, trying not to think too much about events of the prior day. She came in wearing her customary Aéropostale sleep tee, gave me a bright smile and helped herself to some eggs as her bagel toasted. She got on the computer after that, apparently checking emails and such, as I, completely at a loss for what to talk about with her, kept myself buried in my newspaper.

Can you blame me? The only thing running through my mind whenever I thought to say something to her was, Hey when you were masturbating yesterday, you looked incredibly beautiful. Not exactly breakfast table conversation.

After she finished up on the computer, she disappeared for a while. I resumed my Clancy novel, actually making real progress in it this time. The day continued peacefully like this until early in the afternoon, while I was making a sandwich for myself.


I turned to see Ronni in all her glory, leaning in the entrance to the hallway.


She twiddled with a ringlet of hair. “I was going to go ahead and practice today, if you don’t mind.”


“Dancing. I figured I would go ahead and practice with you around now.”

I grinned. “You’re not worried that I’ll start jacking off again?”

She cocked an eyebrow. “If you don’t, it must mean I’m doing something wrong.”

After she disappeared back to her room, I sighed, shook my head and carried my sandwich out to the table to resume my reading. A while later, she called from the back, “Can you put it on the track before ‘Candy-O’?”

“That’s a weird one. Are you sure?”


I went and turned on the stereo, punched up ‘Shoo Be Doo’ and went back to the table. After I sat down, I noticed movement and looked up to see a bejeweled Ronni entering in a stunning violet evening gown. She strolled out to the pole and posed with her back to it, her head down, waiting for the next track to begin. I realized that as high as her dress was slit and as thin as the material was, showing the contour of her nipples clearly, it was really stripper wear. She had much larger earrings than usual, an ankle bracelet, and a spectacular choker, and she’d even done her makeup. Basically, she looked like she’d just stepped out of the most expensive gentleman’s club in town. Actually, I’m not sure they would even have a girl so beautiful.

The moment “Candy-O” started, it was as if she’d just transported me there. She whirled, sending her hair flying, seizing the pole and beginning a hip-bumping motion to the beat that would have been enough to get me horny if she’d stopped right there. Once the verse began, she danced around the pole, her hands repeatedly smoothing her gown from breast to hip as she danced, then beginning to add leg hooks and back arching moves to the routine.

I could tell immediately this was a memorized routine she was working on– once or twice I saw a frown and head shake telling me something had gone wrong– and it clearly had parts to it she didn’t trust herself to do yet. She would pause in those places, then pick up again after a moment. But one move she did try, climbing the pole once again, higher than the previous day, and this time clutching it with her leg and leaning back to hang upside down. My heart almost stopped when she did that. It didn’t just look difficult, it looked damned dangerous, and I knew she was a beginner.

But she pulled it off. Her gown fell open, revealing a violet and rhinestone g-string outlining luscious thighs as she reached down with her hands and allowed herself to slide down and settle onto them in a handstand. At that moment, I was simply staring in slack-jawed amazement. Between the imminent danger of the moment before and the incredible sexiness of her pose, she had me bewitched. Once on her hands, she let go of the bar and cartwheeled onto her feet, holding the stance she ended at for the end of the piece, a pose with one hand behind her head and one on her hip.

I think I was still staring in shock when the next track began and she looked over at me, her eyes sparkling. “Well?”

One thing I had somehow managed to grasp during my stupor. “You are not learning this stuff in some pole-dancing fitness class. You can’t be.”

She gave me her loose grin again. “I never said anything about a fitness class. I said I was taking lessons.”

“You mean private lessons? How can you afford something like that?”

She crossed her arms and smirked at me, leaning against the pole. “I keep a big chunk saved up for a rainy day. I decided this would be worth it.”

“But it’s gotta be expensive.”

“Hell yeah it’s expensive! It’s a hundred twenty five an hour! But I’m buying in bulk. Ten lessons for nine hundred. That’s only ninety an hour.”

I stared at her in amazement. This was the girl who drove a cheap scooter to work so she wouldn’t have to spend money on a car. “Why are you putting that kind of money into this?”

She bit her lip as she gazed at me, thinking over the question. She shrugged. “Did you know I was a dance major before I dropped out of college? I guess this is just… fun for me.”

Her hand ran up the pole and her body started to quirking to ‘Night Spots’. She was just improvising now. She was also starting to give me the seductive come-on looks again. “You can’t hold on too long” was apparently not inspiring to her; she danced over to the stereo and hit the next track button. “Lust for Kicks” apparently worked better. The violet gown began working its way off her body.

I don’t know if those lessons were just for pole dance, or if she was getting stripping lessons too, but she sure had learned how to do it somewhere. She strutted nearer to me for this part, giving me a teasing peekaboo of her breasts from point-blank range before the gown finally slipped away from them, and a hip-grinding removal of the g-string close enough I thought she was about to start lap-dancing. She would have got a surprise if she did, as by that time I was out and stroking. She saw it and stayed where she was, dancing to “Got A Lot On My Head” wearing nothing but jewelry and heels, close enough to touch as I made love to her in my mind.

She wasn’t shy at all about looking at my crewman as I worked him. The way her tongue was moving, it looked to me like she was imagining it in her mouth. I sure as hell was. Then she made it back to the pole for “Dangerous Type”, a song that I swear must have been written specifically for naked women to dance to. The pole returned to her routine, as she threw in various leg hooks and stretches, but she also began simply pushing herself up against it, holding it between her legs as she slid up and down.

Soon I realized she had switched somewhere from dancing to masturbating. She leaned against the pole, still putting on a show since she was doing centerfold poses, but with her fingers now working deep inside her and her hips grinding both to the beat and to the sensations. The music ended and she slid down the pole facing me, looking across the room at me with her lips open and her breasts laboring, watching me beginning to come to the awesome sight.

The delighted smile was still there, but in the middle of sexual ardor it had a more lusty, adult character. Still, once I had leaned back and stopped, she leaned back also her rump sliding out so her back could sink to the floor. Her eyes closed a little, still looking at me with that pleading, inviting stare, but her fingers sped up and I could tell she was somewhere far away now. not actually looking at me at all. I leaned back and enjoyed her slow transformation from horny dancer to sex goddess and then once again to heavenly being as that angel’s smile appeared at the end.

I watched those lovely breasts rising and falling as she breathed, then chuckled. “I can’t tell which of us is having more fun with this.”

“Me,” she declared with a breathy voice and a tired smile. “Definitely me.”

Needless to say, my wait for her to come home from work that day had a very different character. For one thing, I had never before actually waited for her to come home. Her work hours had been a time of peace for me, of knowing I wasn’t going to be assaulted with a live tit show for the next six to eight hours. Suddenly it had become a time of deprivation.

I literally couldn’t think of anything else but writhing, sweaty skin and rocking thighs, unless it was swaying breasts and those inviting, begging lips. I tried TV, I tried the computer, I tried porn videos, nothing would take my mind off her. I was so distracted, I was late getting my dinner. I was still finishing it up when she came home.

She walked in, looking like a dream and smiled at me. “Hi.”

No hot wings tonight. That cook had Sunday off.

“Hi,” I echoed, and couldn’t think of a damn thing beyond that except, “You look good.”

She glanced down at her uniform, the same tank top and shorts she always worked in, and smirked at me. But it was true. She’d left her makeup on, I realized. She normally scrubbed it off at work

With a coy smile and a hand on her hip, she asked. “So where do you want me?”

I blinked. “Um… what?”

“I’ve been horny since I left for work,” she declared.. “Got kidded about my nipples at least a dozen times. Pick a spot for me. I’m starting now.”

They were standing up rather well at the moment, I noticed. Without hesitation, I stood, pulled my plates together, and carried them to the sink. “There you go.”

While I rinsed them and got them into the dishwasher, she climbed on and sat in the middle, vigorously massaging her tits. This wasn’t the slow build up like the previous day; she had walked into the house already in heat. She smiled seductively at me as I pulled my chair a little ways back to add a little insurance space. Then she stared pointedly at my chest as she wiggled slowly out of her tank top. After a moment, I realized what she meant and pulled off my shirt. She stared at my pants as she pulled off her shorts and I complied. Once I finally took my seat, we carried on together, she with her everything and I with my crewman, at least until I came.

She wasn’t finished yet and kept going, massively aroused and lost in sensuous fervor. It took her a long time, so long that I was hard and stroking again before she finished. She wound up laying on her side and watching me, enchanted by the sight of me beating my meat. Honestly, I found that the weirdest part of our odd new relationship. A woman in masturbation can be beautiful; she moves all her sexy parts in a sensuous show. A man just sits there jacking off. At least, that’s the way it seemed to me. Yet she was obviously and unabashedly enjoying my masturbation.

The week that followed went much the same. Monday and Tuesday, when she didn’t have work, I came home to find her eager to dance for me. Wednesday through Friday, she began work before I got of, but I wound up eating dinner at “Max’s” all three nights. When she came home, we masturbated for each other again. Thursday, she was still energetic enough to dance as well.

Yet when Saturday came again, and I saw her that morning, all I could think about was the fact that I couldn’t touch, couldn’t wake up with her. head on the pillow next to mine. Isn’t that crazy? I was getting these extraordinary live sex shows and pole dances by a woman with pro model good looks, yet all I could think of was how I wasn’t getting the perfectly ordinary.

She detected my discontent somehow. “This isn’t working out for you, is it?” She seemed somehow truly sympathetic, even though she knew full well it was her rule causing my troubles.

I stared at my coffee and finally decided it was time to ask. “Is there some way you can explain to me why you don’t want me to touch you?”

She smiled sadly and shook her head. “It just isn’t a good idea.”

“Well, I’m not sure what we are doing is a good idea. It’s wonderful fun, but… to tell you the truth, it’s frustrating.”

“I would hate to stop,” she worried. “Not only am I having wonderful fun, but you… I don’t care how frustrated you say you are, you seem a lot happier.”

“I’m happier because I’m thinking about how nice it would be to make love to you, Ronni!”

She beamed at me, that honestly charmed expression of hers, looking like she would like to kiss me. If only she would! I was thinking. Of course, she didn’t.

“Why don’t we do favors for each other?” she offered. “You know, like requests? Something we would like to see the other person do? Maybe if you can ask for things it will help.”

I wound up asking to watch her use a sex toy. She giggled and went to her room, rummaging around a while and finally coming back with a vibrator. The next thing I knew, she was giving me another fine porn show. When I started disrobing though, she asked me to hold off. For the next forty minutes I watched her bring herself to climax with that thing twice. I was throbbing hard by the end.

“Now my request. I want you to come on me.”

That almost shocked me. She was hardly the first girl to ask for that, but it seemed an awful lot like touching and certainly violated the ‘discreet distance’ rule. She nodded in understanding without me saying a word. “Tell me when you’re close and I’ll come nearer then. I’ll just dance for you until then.”

She started up the Cars once again and began dancing, no routines, just her usual prancing about and practicing her moves ad-lib. Having watched her vibrator show, I really didn’t need more stimulus, but I enjoyed it anyway.

I beckoned to her when the time came and she just threw it in as another dance move, sliding up to me on her knees with her eyes bright and excited. I thought she wanted me to aim at her tits or something, but when I began shuddering she opened her mouth and leaned forward. I got at least half of it in as her lips spread out in a huge open-mouth grin.

She backed away as I settled back in my chair, an odd look on her face. Once moment she seemed happy, like while she swallowed it and used her tongue and her fingers to corral more of it, then the next moment she seemed almost distant, like she was thinking of something troubling. She sat there on her haunches, looking up at me with that odd, wistful look.

May 2018
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