When Shaira Shaes

I had always been a fan of Shakira's, from the intimacy of a song like "Underneath Your Clothes" to the intensity of "Whenever, Wherever," I was hooked from the start. But, more than anything else, I was a fan of her dancing, the way her hips moved from side-to-side while her tight stomach shook in her videos or, even better, when I saw her performing live on TV (I wanted to weep with jealousy when I watched her rub against Alejandro Sanz at this year's VMAs, wishing she would look at me with equally desiring eyes, whether that want was real or performed).

So when I heard that Shakira would be playing my hometown–on my birthday no less–I decided that I deserved a birthday gift and took a day off work to be first in line to buy tickets. What I didn't know until the day of the show was that my friend Billy also thought I deserved a birthday gift and got a DJ he knew to hook him up with a backstage pass. He even said his DJ friend was trying to get through the endless layers of handlers to let Shakira know that it was my birthday, hoping that she would sing "Happy Birthday" to me after the show. Apparently, she preferred talking to people after the show rather than before, which was cool for me, because at least then I knew I could begin by saying how amazing the show was. I had no idea how to carry on a conversation with her after that, but it at least gave me a starting place.

That night, I pulled on a dark pair of blue jeans and a black t-shirt. I normally kept my six-foot body in shape, but, over the months leading up to the concert, I worked hard at toning the lean, sometimes-cyclist muscle even more, wanting to look good for Shakira...as if she couldn't have her choice of beautiful men. Shakira entered the arena wearing a brown leather vest that clung to her breasts and stopped well above her toned midriff, which separated the leather from the cotton of the white, high-cut skirt she was wearing, one that wrapped against her body as she lost herself in the music and motions onstage. Standing a few rows back from the stage–Billy's connection wasn't quite good enough to put me on the front row–my eyes were transfixed on her throughout the show, her words wrapping around my skin, as she sung hit after hit, and I lost myself in the beauty of her voice and the perfection of her body, her slinky gyrations causing a permanent erection to form. Hell, for what it's worth, I think I may have understood Spanish for the first time in my life, her body communicating a sensuality that moved well beyond any words or languages.

After the show, as I walked backstage, I could feel my erection pressing against my jeans. There was a part of me that was kind of nervous about walking in to meet Shakira with a hard-on, but I wasn't going to sit around waiting for it disappear to speak to her, especially since it would probably come back as soon as I gazed at her body from so close. Besides, she'd be covered in sweat from the show, and I'd have an erection from it. It seemed fair to me.

Anyway, an assistant, who, as far as I could tell, didn't look at my crotch, checked with Shakira, then opened the door to Shakira's dressing room so I could meet the object of my desires. When I walked in, I found Shakira standing by a chair in the center of the room, still wearing the outfit she had performed in, her bronze flesh glowing from the reflection of the light against the sheen of sweat that covered her entire body. Unconsciously, I scanned her figure from head-to-toe, knowing I had made a mistake when my gaze reached her head and found her eyes waiting patiently.

"Like what you see?" she asked with a raised eyebrow. I could feel the blood rush to my face–which probably ended the erection problem–and knew that I must have been glowing red as she let out a soft laugh. "It's alright. Why do you think I wear this on stage?"

"You are, um, beautiful," I stammered, still a question behind.

Shakira smiled again. "And let me guess...you're a big fan who has all my CDs."

"Yeah." I paused. "That was what, uh, what I wanted to say next."

"Why does everyone always say the same thing?"

"Well, because you're, uh, beautiful, and, uh, talented, and famous."

"So?"

"Well," I answered, falling into an unusual rush of honesty, "Guys like me–probably most of the others out there tonight–we can't even figure out what to say to the prettiest girl we went to high school with. How are we supposed to compose ourselves in a room with you?" At the moment, it was Shakira's turn to blush, apparently unused to men giving her an honest compliment instead of a cheap pick-up line.

"So what would you say to me?" Shakira asked as she cleared some makeup from a counter and sat on the counter, the row of lights around the mirror behind her shining through the strands of her hair.

I swallowed hard. "I just–hmm–I've never found myself as riveted as I was watching you on stage. You're just so beautiful, not just your body, although, well, we've been through that, but your voice, the passion you move with on stage. I've never seen that kind of beauty and intensity before. I was transfixed."

Shakira smiled again. "It's your birthday, correct?"

"Yeah."

"Would you like it if I danced for you...as a birthday present?"

I nearly choked when I heard this. "You're joking, right?"

Shakira responded by sliding off the counter and standing behind the chair. "Here, have a seat." I walked over to the chair and sat down without saying a word, not wanting to screw things up by opening my mouth. Before I knew what was happening, I felt my arms being pulled behind me, then being lashed to the metal bar on the back of the chair.

"Um...exactly what kind of dance is this going to be?" I asked, both nervous and excited to find out what would happen next.

"One where I'm in control," Shakira responded, placing a finger to my lips. "Shhh...I want to hear the music." She slowly walked across the room, placed a CD in the stereo, then stood with her back facing me, her hands in her hair. The music began with a sharp drumbeat, causing Shakira to jerk her hips to the right, then quickly back to the left as another drumbeat followed. Soon, a sultry South American drum and guitar rhythm filled the air as Shakira shook her hips from side-to-side, imitating the motions I had just seen on stage. I sat their like a kid in a candy store watching Shakira's tight ass rock back and forth beneath her skirt. Then, just as I'd seen her do before, she rocked on her feet, running her hands through her hair, her stomach continuing to gyrate as she turned to face me, my eyes studying her unabashedly this time. Shakira's hips froze as another strong drumbeat landed, and she began stepping forward toward me in rhythm to the drums, until I found her straddling my rehardened cock, her crotch resting inches above my erection, as her hips rolled in circles above me, her breasts pressing out toward my face. I wanted to lean forward and lick the sweat from her cleavage, but didn't want to risk ending the dance, so I tried to sit calmly as Shakira first tossed her head back, jutting her breasts out towards me, then jerked her face back forward, encircling my face in her wild, blond hair. Surrounded by her beauty, I gazed into her eyes as she leaned forward, her tongue licking her lips. No longer able to control myself, I started to lean forward to kiss her, but instead was restrained by my bondage as she jerked back, spun around, and begin rising up and down, her ass inches from both my chest and my cock, but still refusing to touch me, except for the hair that whipped my face with each of her gyrations.

Then, the music ended, switching to a song with a faster, more frantic rhythm. As if inspired by the wilder music, the added drive of an electric guitar, Shakira moved forward and dropped to the ground, perched on her hands and feet, her ass still waving in my face. Shakira reached one hand back, flipping her skirt up and revealing her ass to me, covered only in white lace panties. Slowly, I realized I might be having a wet dream rather than a waking experience. Equally slowly, Shakira took the panties in her hand and slid them down to her feet and then onto the floor, revealing to me a gorgeous, shaved pussy, one that, unfortunately, I was unable to reach out and taste, even though there was nothing in the world that I wanted more at the moment...well, almost nothing.

Shakira began crawling across the floor, pulling her pussy away from me, and eventually kneeling about five feet from me, her back to me as she undid the button on her vest, then let it fall off her back. When Shakira spun back around, her beautiful, firm breasts were exposed to me, her nipples hard and pointing at me, taunting my inability to take them between my fingers, my teeth. Shakira then took two of her fingers in her mouth and begin sucking on them like they were a cock, before letting them slide down the center of her body, across the top of her skirt, then up underneath the skirt as her knees spread across the floor. I couldn't believe what was happening. Right in front of me, a half-naked Shakira was finger fucking herself, her head and hair jerking wildly from side-to-side, her body rising and falling in rhythm to the music, as she gasped in enjoyment. And all the while I was unable to help.

After what seemed like an eternity, Shakira stopped as the song came to an end. To be honest, I can't remember if another song started playing after that or not, because all I knew was that Shakira was back on all fours crawling toward me. When she arrived just in front of me, she rose up on her knees and pried my legs apart with her hands, which then ran up the insides of my thighs and began massaging my cock, before she quickly undid my belt and jerked my pants and boxers down to my feet and then pulled them and my shoes off. When she rose back up, I saw her staring at my hard cock, its tip pointing toward her face and begging her to finish what she had started. Instead, she slid her hands behind my cock and up my stomach and chest, lifting my shirt up with her thumbs as she did so. In a matter of seconds, I had somehow gone from awkwardly gazing at Shakira's body to being completely naked, tied to a chair as her breasts pressed into my chest, her stomach slid against the tip of my cock, and she finally kissed me, her tongue swirling inside my throat, exploring and commanding. Involuntarily, I tried to lift my hands, wanting to caress the hard nipples that pressed against my chest, rising and falling as she jerked back and forth kissing me, her body pumping up and down against me, while still teasing me. When Shakira finished kissing me, she slid her breasts upward along my throat and face. I started to pull one of those gorgeous melons into my mouth, but she quickly jerked it away, pulling my head back by the hair and shaking her head "no," as she began to slide back down my body.

I felt her panting against my cock as her knees hit the floor, followed by the sensation of her fingernails tickling my balls. It took every ounce of self-control I had to not jerk my hips up and slam my cock to the back of her throat, but I knew I would be rewarded for my wait, for only moaning as her tongue danced around the ridge, then the tip, of my cock. Shakira tossed back her hair and stared straight up at my eyes, glancing between them and my cock with a knowing smile. Then, imitating a moment that had flashed through my mind on many occasions as I watched her dance on TV while masturbating, she dropped her head down and swallowed all seven inches of my cock in one mighty gulp. It was the most amazing act of deepthroating I have ever experienced, and I let out a delighted gasp of "Ohhh, Jesus," as she continued to bob up and down on my cock, her hair dancing from side-to-side just as her hips had done earlier, my eyes unable to witness the magic she was performing, but every nerve ending in my cock telling me that I was going to blow any moment. Normally, I pride myself on having a noble amount of staying power, but, my God, Shakira was running her lips, her teeth, her nails, her tongue, her hand–anything that she possibly could–all over my cock. It would take a better man than me to resist the urge to fill that delightful mouth of hers with every drop of cum in my body.

Shakira must have read my mind–or the tightening of my balls–because she tightly squeezed the base of my cock, eliciting a yelp from me, but stopping any ensuing orgasm right in its tracks. She tossed her hair back and looked up at me sternly, "You're not getting to cum unless I do as well." Looking down past her face and spectacular breasts, I noticed that the hand that wasn't disciplining my cock was giving her clit another working over. I only nodded, too turned on to manage adult language any longer, wondering if Shakira was actually going to let me devour that fabulous pussy she had been taunting me with earlier. Shakira, slowly stood, arching herself forward and rubbing her breasts against my swollen cock and sweat-covered chest as she rose. She stepped around me, placing her legs on both sides of the chair and lowering herself until her skirt encircled my naked waist. I quickly realized that she had different plans on how to achieve her orgasm, ones that were driving my mind–and cock–wild, as I could feel the heat from her pussy resting millimeters above my tight cock. Shakira leaned her head forward, kissing me. I could taste my precum on her lips, but I didn't care, merely shoved my tongue down her throat, swabbing every inch of it, before breaking the kiss and working on the edge of her neck.

That must have done the trick, for, just as my teeth scratched the area right beneath Shakira's ear, she grabbed my cock and thrust her pussy down on it, swallowing it in one stroke just as her mouth had done moments before. I couldn't believe the sensation, the heat and moist tightness that surrounded my cock. I had never experienced such an electric pussy before, causing my body to tingle from head to toe with pleasure. Shakira began bouncing up and down on my cock, driving me wild with each frantic stroke, as she tossed her head back, gripping my shoulders and throwing herself all over my cock. As her head fell away, I seized the opportunity and leaned down, sucking on her right breast again. This time she didn't stop me, so I took the nipple between my teeth, squeezing it firmly as I tongue whipped it. I could hear her moaning with pleasure, so I repeated the procedure on the opposite breast, completely turned on, but also somewhat saddened that I couldn't take her luscious breasts in my hands, run my fingers through her hair, and stroke her body. Of course, as my body teetered on the edge of orgasm, I realized I had nothing to complain about.

And it was then that Shakira brought herself upright, her hands still clinched on my shoulders as her pussy suddenly clamped down on my cock. Shakira began moving her hips from side-to-side, first slowly, the rapidly shaking her entire ass and body while she continued fucking me. That was it. My mind, my body was completely blown away: the most beautiful, seductive woman on the planet was giving me a belly dance with my cock inside of her. I tried to hold on longer, to draw out the sensation, but watching her buck and moan, equally turned on by the gyrations, was pushing me over the edge.

"Oh God " I screamed, realizing that Shakira was simultaneously releasing a series of Spanish cries. I could feel the waves of her orgasm rippling across my cock as I exploded string after string of cum deep into her pussy.

A few minutes later, as our bodies finally finished trembling and jerking with the last seizures of pleasure, Shakira collapsed against me, still straddling my cock, but untying the scarf, so I could hold her in my arms.

"Happy birthday," she whispered.

"I, uh, I'm, an, uh, big fan," I stuttered, causing Shakira to let out a blissful laugh as she snuggled against my chest.