Entertaining At Large Ch 03

[This series started with Entertaining at Home, but this story includes references to previous events if you don't want to start there. Thanks for all comments, particularly anonymous's plot suggestions. I had planned some of them, honest; the others may be taken up. Hope you enjoy this. Comments always appreciated.]

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When you're going into the stripping business there are a number of things you should consider. My problem was I had no idea what they were.

I was sitting at my kitchen table drinking my first cup of coffee of the day staring absently at a note a drinker in the pub I had stripped in the night before had slipped into the tips jar.

'Hi Suzette,

'I'm Matt. I was at the table where we helped you out of your dress. I'm best man for Trev -- the boy with the nervous fingers. It's his stag night in a couple of weeks. We'd like to hire you and your friend as entertainment. Please call if you're interested. PS you were incredible. Thanks.'

Straightforward enough. A polite note offering work to an entertainer. Trouble was, I wasn't, I told myself, a stripper. Just a woman who likes to take her clothes off in public for the entertainment of men. Different thing entirely. I puffed out a long breath. I was getting nowhere.

I had started my day with a long bike ride. I had hoped it would help me sort things out in my head. Over the months since my husband and I split up cycling had become something of a passion. That and football. I had been buzzing still with the excitement of the night before; my appearance as a last-minute substitute performer at the Crown and Anchor's regular Friday night striptease session.

OK, so I had thrown up because of the nerves before going on, but the thrill of turning on all those men had been immense. I giggled to myself as I puffed up a steep hill remembering the climax to my act. I had dragged a friend up and had him spank me. I squirted my orgasm all over the stage; proof of my enjoyment for all to see. The invitation to do it all again at the stag do was the icing on the cake; that and the quick shag with my elderly neighbour when I got home.

So why was I stopping myself just phoning Matt and booking the gig?

I had worked out that part of it was my reluctance to admit to myself exactly how much of an exhibitionist I really was. My first strip had been in front of a group of men I sort-of knew. They were friends of Dave's, my ex. I had progressed to giving my peeping Tom neighbour a nightly show near my bedroom window which culminated in a live act in my living room when he had come round for tea one night. The Crown and Anchor striptease in front of a cheering crowd of well over a hundred blokes had been sprung on me at the last moment. I had no time to think it through.

Taking on a paying job was definitely a step up. I suppose I was telling myself that it was not the sort of thing women like me did. So why didn't I just toss the note and forget the whole thing? I poured myself a second cup of coffee and tried frowning. It didn't help. I cleaned the kitchen. Mostly that consisted of gathering up my earnings from the night before. Mr J, my neighbour, had counted out the contents of the bag of notes and loose change I had earned as tips and set it all out in neat piles for me. It came to two hundred and thirty two pounds and fifty seven pence. His work had been undone when we had fucked furiously against and on the table. When I reassembled the piles cash there was ten pence missing. I guessed I could live with the loss.

Would the potential earnings tip the balance and get me up again in front of a bunch of strangers?

I had decided on my ride that the money was going into a separate account. I was going to put it towards my next bike. But whilst a couple of hundred quid is not to be sniffed at, it wasn't a deciding factor. I earned a decent wage as a manager in a medium-sized company; more than enough to cover my expenses and pay for a couple of holidays a year.

My friends were offering nothing but encouragement. My phone had been pinging all morning with text messages from the lads. They are the four outfield players in my footie team. They had each let me know how much they had enjoyed my show. Steve, marginally the most sensible of the group, had forwarded a link to a YouTube video. It had clearly been taken by someone near the back of the crowd. It was wobbly and barely in focus, the sound was appalling and the action cut off once I had my bra off.

'Only a matter of time before the full thing appears on a porn site :)

He messaged. I sent back a non-committal reply: "which of you bastards was it?". I opened DuckDuckGo, my search engine of choice, and put in "Suzette Strip". It brought up a number of entries for Suzettes. None of them appeared to be me. I decided that on the whole I was not disappointed. But the thought of thousands of people world-wide seeing me do my stuff over the internet raised a tingle between my legs even at that time in the morning. I changed to get ready for the weekly shop.

In the days I was a sensible married woman shopping was conducted in whatever I had put on that morning. Now, I changed into black stockings held up by a suspender belt, a short, A-line skirt and a tight blouse. When I was just taking my clothes off to titillate Mr J, giving my fellow shoppers a flash of stocking top or a glimpse of cleavage had been a weekly thrill. There had been times when, on reaching home, groceries had been dumped on the kitchen table as I rushed upstairs for an assignation with my vibrator. In the car on the way down I wondered whether I would get the same buzz today after the excesses of the night before.

I did. By the time my trolley was full I had an entourage of adolescent assistants, single dads with fractious children and at least one pensioner. I knew it was naughty to keep changing direction in the aisles or lingering long in contemplation of the various cans of beans on offer. But their looks as they tried to fake similar indecision would give any girl a lift. I felt like giving them a curtsy as they queued behind me at the checkout, but restricted myself to a coy smile and the slightest of swirls as I headed for the exit.

Traffic jams of last-minute Xmas shoppers provided ample time for contemplating Matt's offer. It was unusually sunny for a British December and I found myself whistling The Stripper between my teeth as I waited at yet another snarl up. Mr J was pottering in his front garden when I eventually pulled up outside the house. I smiled across at him.

'Looking chipper, Mr J.'

'Thanks to you. Mentally I feel twenty years younger; physically about ten years older.'

'Hang over?'

'That and the other.'

He blushed at his inadvertent double-entendre and hurried over to help me with my bags. I put on the coffee machine and gestured him into a seat when the unpacking was done. I started to move the piles of notes and coins which still littered the table. Mr J started fumbling in the pocket of his gardening trousers.

'I brought you these.'

'But Xmas is still a couple of weeks away.'

He laughed and deposited a handful of small plastic bank bags on the table.

'You've got to deposit the exact amounts in coins when you take them to the bank. I'll do it for you.'

He started to fill them and line them up neatly in separate denominations. He was finally left with only Matt's beer mate note which he picked up and fanned in front of his face grinning.

'Had any more thoughts about this?'

'One or two.'

He waited for me to continue. I busied myself with the drinks and left him hanging. I caught myself starting to hum The Stripper again and swallowed the notes. I gave him an innocent smile as I passed the cup.

'Care to share them?'

'I'm not sure it's really me, you know?'

'You should have seen yourself last night. You looked like you were having the time of your life.'

I brought up my YouTube debut on my phone and handed it to him.

'I have.'

He stared at the screen fascinated.

'You got someone to video it? Why didn't you ask me, I was nearer the front?'

There then followed a few minutes discussion on the development of mobile technology and the internet. Mr J looked like a kid being introduced to chocolate for the first time. His eyes shone and he began speaking excitedly as the full implications of the access to smut the new technology might give him sank in.

'So?'

'What?'

'Are you going to take the opportunity to perform at this young man's bachelor party?'

He tapped the beer mat on the table in emphasis. I shuffled the pros and cons in my head again as I struggled to reply.

'It's just that... Well, I've no idea what to expect. It's all a bit sudden.'

Mr J burst out laughing. I had never seen him so animated. I even thought I saw a tear forming in the corner of his eye.

'I believe the response of a young person to that ridiculous statement would be "duh".'

I started laughing too. Mr J's polite and formal way of speaking was not something I associated with street slang.

'Ridiculous?'

'Yes. I've only known you a little while; to speak to, you know.'

It was his turn to start blushing. He was referring to the long lead up to us becoming friends when I stripped nightly in my bedroom window for his eyes only.

'Before the blow jobs and the screwing? As I believe every generation calls them?'

He rallied under my gentle Mickey-taking.

'Precisely. You obviously like taking risks and turning men on, you little vixen.'

He paused checking my face to make sure he was not going too far.

'I think when you invented Suzette it sort of set you free a bit. This.'

He tapped the beer mat again.

'Is just the next logical step. Go on, you know you'll love it.'

He sat back in his chair and reached for his coffee as if suddenly tired. It dawned on me that of course he was right. So why was I still hesitating? I reached absentmindedly for the mat and stared again at the note.

'I suppose I'm just worried 'cos I don't know what to expect.'

I held up my hand to stop him speaking again.

'When I've stripped before it's always been for people I know.'

I couldn't help but notice Mr J's cynically raised eyebrow. Last night's audience were hardly close acquaintances by any stretch of the imagination.

'Or at least I've had mates there.'

I smiled at him. He was not to know that the four boys he knew as my football team mates had only become friends after a gang bang session which even now, some months later, caused my sphincter to contract when I remembered the thrill of it all.

Mr J sighed and pointed to the note.

'There are two obvious answers to your problem right there in your hand.'

I looked at the note again, puzzled as to what he meant. It clearly showed on my face.

'They want Tracy as well; you could ask her. I bet this wouldn't be her first stag party. But the easiest thing would be to contact Matt and ask him yourself, wouldn't it?'

I was grateful that the patronising tone in his voice was barely noticeable. He was of course right. I knew at last though what had stopped me thus far. As soon as I started discussing the ins-and-outs of the gig I wouldn't be able to stop myself doing it regardless of what was expected.

'What's the worst that could happen?'

Mr J looked genuinely confused as he asked his question. I shrugged in reply. The fresh contraction in my bum was a private expectation.

'Maybe I'll speak to Tracy if she's in the pub after the match on Wednesday.'

'She's coming over to see me this afternoon, well I'm going to pick her up actually. You could pop in and have a word then.'

I was speechless. No, that's just an expression. Amazed would be a better description. I had noticed the pair had been thick as thieves down at the Crown and Anchor. But they were the last two of my acquaintances I would ever think of as getting on together. I still thought of Mr J as a somehow respectable resident of our suburban neighbourhood. He was a nice old boy, always polite even when watching me strip or, and I blushed at the thought, sucking his cock.

Tracy on the other hand was a bit of a tart. I knew she was a single mother. And a stripper. I had caught her having sex in the pub's toilets with a pimply-bottomed youth. Caught is probably the wrong word too. She was not in the least embarrassed by my presence and informed me when she had finished that he was her second partner of the night; neither of them her nominal boyfriend. He had turned up at the end of the evening and the pair had happily gone off together for more sex.

In fact, I concluded, the only thing they had in common was me. I grinned at Mr J in that way we all do when we want someone to share a secret. He didn't bite.

'Pop over about five if you like. We could have tea together.'

I snorted at the image of Tracy, little finger crooked, drinking tea from fine china whilst nibbling on crustless cucumber sandwiches.

'I'll drop the cash off at the bank if you want?'

Mr J was clearly not going to be forthcoming. I passed him a carrier bag into which he started loading my money whilst I filled out a deposit slip from the back of my cheque book. We parted at the door with a neighbourly kiss. I promised to see him later.

'Call Matt.'

We're his parting words leaving me with the definite feeling I was being manoeuvred into a corner. Still, in for a penny, in for a pound I thought and picked up my mobile and reached for the note.

"Suzette here. When would be a convenient time for me to call to discuss your proposition?"

I texted. I had found in the course of my work that people appreciated some warning of a call to allow for preparation. It would also give me some time to work out what I would say when we talked. I put the phone down, but it buzzed almost immediately.

"Now?"

So much for Plan A.

'Matt? It's Suzette. You asked me to contact you.'

'Hi. Yes I did. Thank you for calling.'

The voice on the other end of the line was deep and reassuring but by no means self-confident. He sounded as nervous as I definitely was.

'What did you have in mind?'

'Well, as I said in my note -- sorry about the beer mat by the way, it was all there was to hand.'

'Don't worry about it.'

This was going better than I expected.

'It's just, you know, I'm arranging this stag do for Trev. He was the nervous lad, you probably remember...'

'And where do you see Tracy and I fitting in to the "arrangements"?'

He coughed at the other end of the phone. I could visualise him trying to pluck up the courage to set out what he wanted.

'Sorry. This is harder than I thought. I've never done this kind of thing before.'

Bastard! Now I was starting to feel sorry for him.

'Spit it out. We're both grown ups.'

That came out a little more schoolteachery than I might have wished.

'Of course. We are all going paint balling in the afternoon followed by a meal and then I've booked a suite at The Grand. We would like you to come and dance for us there. If that is acceptable to you, of course.'

'When is this exactly?'

'Fifteenth of January.'

I looked up at the kitchen calendar. It was no help, we were still in December.

'That's a Saturday, isn't it? How many of you will there be?'

'Yes. I know this is very short notice I hope you're not booked already. There'll be ten of us altogether. Most of us work together at the tax office, plus one or two old school friends.'

Too much information. I'd been on a lot of first dates over the past few months and one thing I had learned was that if you didn't nip conversations about work in the bud there was a very real danger of being subject to hours of tedious drivel about double-entry book keeping and the like. Not that I wasn't enjoying listening to him. There was something about that velvet voice which was seductive.

'And you want us to strip?'

'Yes please.'

'About an hour's show?'

I was beginning to sound as if I knew what I was talking about. I had to stop myself laughing.

'Is that the usual?'

'Well yes. Is there anything else you would require?'

'What do you mean?'

'You know, costumes? A particular type of act? Best to get it all out in the open.'

I really was sounding like an old stager.

'I don't think so. I thought we'd leave all that up to you.'

'Well I'll have a word with Tracy this afternoon to see if she's free. What sort of time are we talking, seven, eight, later?'

'I've booked the restaurant for seven, so I was thinking about nine-thirty?

'Fine. I'll talk to Tracy and get back to you. OK?'

I couldn't think of anything else and was ready to hang up. The conversation had gone a lot more smoothly than I had expected. I was beginning to ask myself why I had been so worried about it.

'Er, Suzette.'

'Yup.'

'How much do you charge?'

Shit. The one thing I should have sorted out before calling him had completely slipped my mind. I struggled to think of what might be a proper fee. I should have spoken to Tracy first. Damn!

'Well the usual fee is one hundred and fifty pounds.'

I plucked a number out of the air. I was expecting we'd have to go lower in negotiations.

'Each?'

Matt didn't seem phased by the sum. I took a deep breath.

'Of course.'

I waited for him to argue. He didn't.

'I'll have a word with my mates to check that's OK with them. Can I call you in the early evening? About seven?'

'Fine. I should be free then. I'll let you know what Tracy says. Ask your friends if they have any special requests.'

He laughed, but did not explain why. I didn't press him. I had sat in on enough conversations with my footballing mates to guess what was going through his mind. We exchanged a few platitudes and then terminated the call. I sat back in my chair giggling to myself. One hundred and fifty quid. For an hour's work. That was what my solicitor had charged for the divorce. At this rate I will definitely be entering the ranks of the professionals, I told myself.

It was lunch time. I made myself a sandwich and then set about those mundane tasks we professional strippers save for Saturdays: vacuuming, doing the washing, changing the bed. You know the kind of thing. I saw Mr J backing his old car out of his drive as I tidied my front room. We exchanged a neighbourly wave. He was no doubt going to pick up Tracy. I speculated again about what was going on between the two of them, but once more drew a blank.

At five on the dot I tapped on Mr J's door. It was open, so I walked straight in. It was the first time I had been inside his house and I called out to let them know I was there. It was identical to my own, but decorated in a much older style. There was the fresh smell of lavender furniture polish in the hall way. I called out again and listened for a response. I thought I could hear the low sound of of a nineteen fifties dance band coming from the front room so tapped on the door and opened it.

Tracy glanced up as I stuck my head around the door. She gave me a little wave and a smile when she saw me. Well as much of a smile as she could given that she had Mr J's long, slender cock in her mouth. He was lying back on the sofa with his eyes closed oblivious to my presence. Tracy waved for me to come in and then reapplied herself to the task in hand. And mouth.

I was fascinated. I realised I had never seen another woman giving a blow job before. She had one hand at the base of the old man's member and was stroking gently as she kept up as steady ducking rhythm at the head. Mr J had his thighs spread, his suit trousers and sensible white Y-fronts were bunched around his ankles. One of his hands rested on the back of Tracy's head and the other was gripping a sofa cushion in a tight fist. He was red faced and his breathing was thready and rapid.