Live Nude Girls

I live in LA. It's nice if you like palm trees, concrete, and fake boobs. I like two of the three, so I'm happy most of the time. I was southbound on the 405 after a long day spent pushing stacks of paper around my desk. Traffic was slow and the freeway was more a parking lot than the modern, high-speed thoroughfare it was designed to be. Getting impatient with the freeway mess, I hopped off at Century Blvd near LAX and tried to cut South on La Cienega to shave a few minutes off my commute.

It was an hour or so before sunset and the low angle of the sun with the grime on my windshield made seeing the road ahead about as easy as looking through a jar of Vaseline. The area around the airport is home to a handful of topless bars and strip clubs catering to business travelers. They are scattered here and there, but I didn't know of any on La Cienega. I caught a glimpse of flashing green and purple neon and a sign that I thought said "nude." Words like "nude," "free," and "topless" have a way of grabbing at my subconscious. I circled around the block to get another look. On the side of a building that may have been a second rate warehouse when it was new, was a neon sign flashing three words, "Live Nude Girls."

I pulled my Benz into the small parking lot next to the building. I looked around. Not exactly the type of neighborhood I'd take my mother too, but it didn't look too bad and my mother wasn't with me. Next to the battered steel door the owners had tried in vain to spruce up with a coat of teal paint was a red and white cardboard sign reading "No Minors, blah, blah, blah." Since I'm middle-aged, I thought I'd ignore the sign. I opened the door. Inside was dimly lit and the room looked like a lobby from a sleazy hotel that was a few years past its prime. In the corners were a couple of cheesy imitation palm trees hung with flashing Christmas lights. The whole scene was bathed in the glow from some red and blue lights hung from the ceiling. I guessed they'd skipped on the Louis XIV décor in favor of a 1960's swingers motif. It had a nice ambience if you liked that scene. There were a couple of leather couches and a coffee table strewn with past issues of Elle and Cosmopolitan. Two women, a blond and a brunette, real lookers, were seated on one of the couches when I came in. Beyond them were a low wall and a hallway leading to what looked like small offices.

The brunette got up and walked over to me. It was more of a float then a walk. She looked hot and nasty. I guessed she had a few boyfriends, probably an elder businessman, sugar-daddy type to keep her clothed and jeweled; a burly biker who had the right equipment to put between her thighs; and a guy like me who would be good to her for an hour or until my wallet was empty and my ATM card maxed out.

She was wearing a sapphire satin dress that looked like she had to plug it in and charge it up over night before she put it on. The dress had spaghetti straps and a plunging neckline that revealed a great deal about her character. Her black bra was plainly visible and combined with the black patent come-fuck-me's on her feet gave her ensemble a certain trampishness fitting for a place that had a sign flashing "Live Nude Girls" out front.

I picked up her scent when she drew near. I inhaled deeply and flashbacked to high school and long nights petting with girls who hadn't mastered the art of makeup and perfume application. Nights that ended in frustration and blue balls. She grabbed the bottom of my tie and let it twirl around her wrist. She was definitely not playing hard to get. "Give me forty dollars and we can start your show," she purred into my ear. She thought I wasn't going to need the hard sell.

I was able to manage a hoarse whisper. "What's my show?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Have you been here before?"

"No," I said.

"You'll like your show. We go into a private room and you can make yourself as comfortable as you wish. I take off my clothes and put on a little show for you. You're free to make yourself comfortable, loosen a tie. You know what I mean? You give me forty dollars now for the house and then you tip me during the show. The more you tip, the more you'll like your show. You get it?"

I thought I got the gist of what she was trying to tell me, but sometimes I can be a little slow to pick up the subtle nuances so I played dumb and replied, "no, I don't get it."

She put her arm around my shoulder and started to maneuver me back towards the hallway. Her breasts were pushed into my arm and I could smell Dentyne on her breath. "Look honey," she proceeded, "you and I share a small, cozy room for a half hour show. I'll take off my clothes and do a little show for you. You know, let you see what I like to do when I'm alone. While you watch me, you can make yourself at home. Do what you do when you watch dirty movies. You can even tell me what to do if that's your thing, kind of like directing your own little movie."

The little light bulb over my head went from dim to bright, but I was interested to see how much detail she'd go into and continued to play dumb. "I'm not sure I understand," I said. "Is this like a private strip show?"

"Yes honey, this is just like a private strip show. It's just you and me enjoying a little mutual show time activity," she said with a slightly exasperated tone. I had the feeling I was starting to annoy her. "You look like a bright businessman," she said. "Why don't you give me forty bucks for the house and we can have ourselves some fun. I promise we'll enjoy ourselves."

I could have played dumb so more, but my other head was telling me to trust her, give her the money, and start the show. Sometimes I listen to the guy down below. I slipped her a couple of Jacksons from my wallet and her face lit up like Vegas. I thought, "Hey I may have some fun because this babe's a pushover." Then I realized she wasn't so impressed with the twenties in her hand, but the bills still in my wallet. I could tell this dame had a head for business and she thought I was a cash cow that needed milking.

With a nod from my friend, the silent blonde sitting behind a copy of Vanity Fair buzzed us through a low partition door. My new friend ushered me down the hallway and I followed behind. Her dress was cut high in the back. She wasn't wearing her Sunday go to meeting dress. This was her Saturday, I hope Sunday never comes, dress. With each stride I noticed more of her legs, the curves, the subtle shapes shifting as she walked, the soft spots behind each knee. Watching her walk was good for my soul. There are certain sights that make you appreciate god and she was one of them.

She stopped before a room and hitched her thumb inside. "Why don't you make yourself comfortable," she purred. "I'll be right back." She closed the door behind me and I was alone in the room. It was ten feet on a side and contained a small carpeted stage, a large leather chair, a cheap shoji screen, and a table with some Kleenex. Next to the chair a battered trashcan was overflowing with Kleenex. I doubted the Kleenex were from people having a good cry. I took a wild guess that the chair was for me. I sat down and stretched my legs. I was making myself comfortable. The room was warm and dimly lit. The black painted walls didn't stretch quite to the warehouse ceiling and someone had draped blue and red runners over them creating a cheap harem look. The door had a peephole that was pointed my direction. Maybe the head honcho got his jollies watching everyone's shows or maybe it was to make sure the house got their cut if a little extra business transpired. Whatever the reason, I just thought, "let them watch."

Before I got too comfortable, she came into the room and locked the door behind her. I got up. I figured she had to give the house the twenties I had given her earlier. Before she was more than a couple steps into the room she said, "You can leave your tip on the table." I guessed I was right about where the first two twenties went so I snaked a couple more on to the table.

She looked at the tip and kind of frowned. She said with a slight pout, "We can have a lot more fun for a little better tip."

"Easy come, easy go," I thought and slipped a couple more onto the table. I said, "Maybe we'll start here and see how things go."

"Fair enough," she said. "What's your name?"

Thinking fast I said, "John Smith, what's yours."

She smiled. "John is it? Well John, you can call me Mona."

Her name was probably no more Mona than mine was John, but I wasn't here for stimulating conversation. "Okay Mona, what do we do?"

With her back to me, she bent over to start a little boombox on the floor. I saw quite a bit more of her legs and something that wasn't quite her legs. I liked the view. She looked back at me and was pleased to see where I was looking. This girl certainly wasn't bashful. "I hope you like Sade," she said. "Her music turns me on." She started when the music started. She stood up before me and put her hands on my shoulders. I took a step towards her with the thought of acting like Fred sweeping Ginger off her feet. "Why don't you take a seat big boy and enjoy the show. Make yourself comfortable if you know what I mean."

I sat and watched her. She was like a cat, feline, sinuous and sexy. She was good and had my attention at full attention in no time. She was running her hands up and down her body, subtly hitting all of her pleasure spots. I became aware that my breathing wasn't relaxed and natural. With a turn, she had her back to me and asked breathlessly if I could unzip her. I managed to remove my hands from the claw prints I'd made in the arms of the leather chair and pulled her zipper down. In the half step it took her to face me again her gown was on the floor. She stood before me in a very sheer black bra and panty set. The panties were not the cheap satin type, but the real McCoy made of silk. This was luxury European stuff. The bra was nearly transparent and encased her breasts in a most delightful way. She had no tan lines on her chest and her nipples we slightly erect. I gave her "C's" an "A."

She took a step away from me and towards the small stage. She asked me if I liked what I saw. I could only manage an idiotic smile and a nod. My appreciation for God was growing by the minute as was the lump in my pants. She said, "why don't you make yourself more comfortable?"

I asked what she meant.

She said, "well at least loosen your tie." With a quick glance at my lap she added, "your clothes look like they are a little tight." I felt an electric spark jump inside me when she noticed she'd given me a woody. The least I could do for her was loosen my tie. So I did. I also let my right hand kind of casually drop into my lap. I thought I was being subtle, but she noticed it instantly and smiled.

She was now sitting on the stage with her feet on the floor. Her legs parted slightly. She ran her hands over her taut belly and around the curves of her breasts. Her nipples were clearly visible and now clearly erect. I think even a blind man would have noticed them in that small room. I was starting to feel very hot. Mona was too as she reached behind her to unclasp her bra. Her breasts remained covered by the sheer cups of her bra until she bent forward at the waist and cupped them in her hands. When she sat upright the shoulder straps had slipped down her arms and her hands were the only things keeping her tits from view. Our eyes met for a second and she smiled. I dropped my eyes back to her chest. She flashed me a smile and let her hands drop to her sides. Her breasts were amazing. The seemed to float in front of her chest as if gravity didn't apply to them.

She sighed when she began to caress them with both hands. At first she was gentle, but her self-massage quickly became ardent and she was soon tugging on her nipples and rolling them between thumb and forefinger. I was getting more aroused and my right hand was doing a little self-massage in my lap.

Ever the classy guy I said, "you've got great tits."

She smiled and pinched both nipples very hard. Her eyes were half shut and her breathing was getting heavier. "Do you like having your nipples played with?" I asked.

"Yes," was her breathless reply. Taking that as a cue, I stood up to help her out.

"Oh no big boy, I'll take care of myself," she said. "You're a darling to want to help me out."

I sat down and watched her get going again. She was still sitting on the edge of the stage and was caressing her sides and the tops of her thighs as well as her breasts. I was just staring wide-eyed at her tits. Her nipples looked so perfect. She asked, "do you have sensitive nipples?"

"Yes," I replied.

"Can you show me?"

I unbuttoned my shirt and spread it open for her to see my chest. With my left hand I began to pinch my right nipple. It was soon hard, just like a little pencil eraser. Se was watching me intently so I used both hands on my chest and mirrored her caresses. She caught on to what I was doing and she started to focus on her thighs. I followed suit.

"Do you want the show to get nastier?" she asked.

"You bet," was my obvious reply.

"For a little bigger tip our show can get really nasty," she said. She knew she had me and I felt like a hooked fish. Still, this was fun so I slipped a trio of Jacksons on the side table. She smiled and said, "For a couple more twenties you'll get the genuine show."

I was miffed that she could be so businesslike at a time like this. Still, I was curious about what she meant by a genuine show versus a nastier show. I asked, "What's the genuine show?"

"I don't fake it," she said. I figured she could still fake it, but it was near payday and the triplets on the table had a couple of siblings I could give her.

We resumed the show, only now she was occasionally slipping a hand into her panties. I was still mirroring her actions, but I was keeping my hands out of my pants. It was obvious to both of us that I had something in my pants that wanted to be set free. "Why don't you make yourself more comfortable; I'd like to watch you," she said.

It's not every day that a woman asks me to show her my cock and to have her already heated up was extra special. I slipped the buckle of my belt and slid the zipper down. I slipped my hands beneath the waistband of my boxers and, raising my hips off the seat, slid everything past my knees. Her eyes sparkled when she saw how hard she'd gotten me. My cock was very hard and it bounced slightly with my heartbeat. The head was wet with pre-cum. I didn't touch myself, but just sat there, with my hands dug into the chair arms, watching her. She had one hand on a nipple and the other hand in her panties.

"My turn," she said, and stood up. Hooking her thumbs into the top of her panties, she slid them down her thighs. The crotch was wet and stuck to her pussy for an instant. She let them slide down the rest of her legs and stood naked before me except for her pumps. She was a goddess. She was also shaved and her lips were clearly visible.

She turned her back to me and bent over at the waist giving me a slutty stripper pose. She then ran her hands up the inside of her thighs until she reached her lips. She spread them for me. She spun around on her heals so her face was inches from my cock. She pursed her lips and blew. I twitched when her hot breath hit me. She was still bent over with her hands on her knees for support. She tilted her head right and left and looked like the robin that was about to get the worm. Her hair spilled off her shoulders and the ends danced on my lap. She continued to blow on me. It felt good.

"Do you like that," she asked.

"What do you think?"

"Am I getting you hot?"

"Yes."

"How hot?"

I grabbed my cock for an answer. "Oh," was her reply.

She leaned over me pulled a small gym bag from behind my chair. She opened the bag and pulled out a bottle of oil which she then squirted across the top of her boobs. She looked at me and asked, "do you want some?"

"Yeah, sure," I replied.

From about a foot away she squirted a liberal amount on to my cock. I watched as it ran off the head and down the shaft. She watched too. "Don't let it get away," she said and I grabbed my cock at the base with my left hand, damming the oil on my shaft. With my right, I wiped it up on the head and swirled it around. She was watching me and doing the same thing with her boobs. They glistened in the light and my cock did the same.

She sat back down on the edge of the stage with her legs spread wide. She was so wet she really didn't need a squirt of oil. I suspect she did it for affect. She had both hands busy between her legs. I watched as she slipped a finger inside. She heaved a deep sigh and began to slowly pull it out and push it back in. I watched the muscles in her stomach begin to tighten and I could tell the sexual energy was building in her. She pulled her finger out and traced the outline of her pussy lips with it.

I grasped the base of my cock with one hand, making it swell in size and go to an angry red-purple color. I casually dragged my fingernails up and down my shaft with the other hand. I was starting to get the little twitch that tells me I'm well on my way. She spread her lips with one hand and circled a finger around the little man in the boat. Her breathing was becoming ragged and a flush crept onto her chest. Her eyes were heavy lidded and focused on the activity in my lap. We continued like that, each watching the other, for quite some time. Occasionally changing strokes and always building the tension in our bodies.

She was making little gasping noises and I was starting to grunt when she asked, "Can you cum for me?"

"Yes, I'm close, very close. Are you going to cum?"

"Yes."

"Do you want to watch me cum?"

"Yes."

"I want to stand when I cum," I said and stood up. When standing I can let the tension build a bit longer. I was cupping my balls in my left hand and really working my right hand on my cock. Standing before her, stroking away with all my attention centered on her and the feelings in my cock was a transcendental moment for me. I was ready for an out of body experience.

Her shoulders were hunched over and I could see the muscles in her arms working hard. Her fingers were a blur on her clit. She was ready for a little out of body travel herself. We were racing to see who would reach Nirvana first. She won. Her body spasmed and I could see her lips contract as waves of ecstasy swept through her. Fifteen seconds later I joined her in the Promised Land and it felt as if I was trying to shoot my soul out through the little hole in my head. My legs grew weak and I had to put a hand on the stage for support. I saw stars.

"Wow," we both said.

"That was incredible," I added.

"Yes, that was fun," she said and leaned back on the stage. "There are some tissues on the table." She was Ms. Professional again and all business. I looked down to see I had sprayed her right leg pretty good. She didn't seem to mind. I handed her the box and let her wipe up her leg. I took care of the last drops leaking out of my gun.

"That was fun," I said. I sounded like a nimrod so I followed up with a quick question. "Do you do the genuine show often?"

"No, only when I'm really horny and I've got a client that has a lot of cash."

"I'm flattered." Few people think I have a lot of cash so I must have made her horny.

"You should be," she said and dabbed at the perspiration on her chest.

"I liked watching you too."

"Good, I'm glad. You can come back anytime for a repeat performance."

"I will," I said and I meant it. I put my gun back in its holster and walked out the door into the fading sunset.