Diaphanous Dancer

For some time I was a professional dancer performing alongside local jazz artists and pianists. Although I detested it, I would do it almost entirely for the pay and the tips, which were often explicitly generous for reasons I could never grasp, however heated usherings between green-eyed wives concluded that my routines could turn even the most respectable gentleman into an animalistic beast.

The costumes I wore in those days were often very tight and uncomfortable, forcing my rounded breasts upward as though offering themselves like some gorgeous fruit. The men who attended my dances were often so intoxicated with the atmosphere that it swayed some of them into losing all trance of shame and shyness.

It was never especially rare for me to leave a stage with the ends of my dress in tatters through the wild grappling it had endured during my performance.

One night I was booked to perform in the snug of a dusky foreign bar. As I entered that night with my suitcase of costumes and outfits, the mellow aura the bar contained made me feel almost as though I had wandered into some microcosmic paradise. And in comparison to all of my previous venues - that's exactly what it was.

Music seemed to emanate from its very walls, as though by nature some enticing melody was perpetually present. The room itself was a mirage of tropical reds and royal-blood blues. It was a circular building, with an off-gold stage at the very center, backlit by soft theatrical lighting. Thrilled by the novelty, I took off my shoes, blouse and coat, leaving me clothed in only my summer dress; I flung the other garments on the floor to side of the stage. In this state I began my performance entirely alone - savouring the sensation which dancing at this magical tavern gave me.

I quickly became breathless by how fluidly I found myself to move like this. There was no roaring audience here, and I was not required to keep aware of whose attention I was arousing in case they decided to grab me. The movement of my dance allowed the simple fabric of my sarong caress against my form, reminding me I wore no restrictive clothing, corset, thonged garter or brassiere.

As I opened my eyes, I noticed a pattern of couples dotted around the outside of the room who appeared to be sleeping, however ~ it wasn't until I strained my eyes through the haze of musky incense that I realised they were in the midst of smouldering embraces. There was one single figure aligned with the main light around my stage, therefore I decided to focus my delight on this person. The people in the room seemed so far away from me that I somehow felt as though all anonymity was entirely retained, and I was laughing with Liberty, flaunting my dancing body entirely to this one single figure whom I used as loyally as a ballerina would use some mark on the wall for "spotting" as she pirouettes.

Not wishing to detract offputting attention from my rhythm by making any adjustments to my clothes, I freely allowed the diaphanous straps of my dress to fall naturally from my shoulders - my full breasts showing themselves. I secretly wondered if this figure noticed them~ how large and erect my tits were, how clearly aroused I was.

The music seemed to simultaneously adapt to my excitement: a drumming, arabian beat emerged, and I began to shake my hips as masterfully as though my lover were laying beneath me, gazing up at my moist sex. The figure slowly drew nearer now, and I saw his large, dark eyes catch the light from my stage, glowing with intense admiration. The top of my dress was now embracing the full flare of my hips - my upper body exposed to his stare. I was filled with the desire to tell him how much his staring aroused me, and this became the focus for a subliminal message I attempted to translate into my dance.

With eyes closed once more, I raised my hands behind my head and swirled my pelvis as though I were a woman possessed by a fierce and merciless sexual desire; my lips were contracting beneath the dress, softly squeezing around its hidden jewel. When I opened my eyes, the figure was now in front of me - looking directly at my lower curves.

I suddenly blushed in embarrassment at the realism of my dream. He smiled, noticing this, but persisted his gaze; my dress had fallen off my hips, and was around my ankles. His eyes grew brilliant as he marvelled at my clitoris peeking from out from between my large, gently pulsating sex lips and we instinctively slipped into a visceral embrace. All of my front felt his firm suit as his strong arms devoured my body, and the tip of my clitoris was buried into his thigh. I climaxed immediately this way, shimmering with glory.