Julie's excited, but nervous too. The cleavage of her curve clinging little black dress is cut in a deep V between her breasts and she's not wearing a bra. Her dress is daringly short up her bare thighs. As Julie totters along on her high heels she feels as if her every step will bounce her breasts out and give any man who's interested a glimpse of her knickers. And here in this red light district part of the city there are lots of interested men around.
Julie would never be by herself in a place like this. She's glad her friends Karen, Angie and Barbara are with her here for Karen's hen night. Their clothes are every bit as revealing as Julie's, and Angie's white blouse is so sheer and tight over her breasts its hardly worth the bother of wearing. They turn a corner of the dingy, poorly lit street.
"Here we are!" Karen laughs.
Steps lead down from the street to a doorway. Above it flickers a neon sign: "Striptease! Live Acts" it reads in garish letters. But tonight the sign that reads "Girls!" is dark, and in its place bright pink neon letters flicker "Ladies Night!"
Giggling, the girls stumble on their high heels down the steps. They almost collide with the bouncer in his dark suit and bow tie. He scans them through his reflective sunglasses and motions them inside. They're the perfect clientele for Ladies Night. They're all older than eighteen than they would ever admit to being. They're four pretty but cosmetic plastered women wearing the skimpiest, most revealing clothes they can squeeze their bodies into, and all looking as if they're here to have a hell of a good time.
Hurrying along the short corridor to the desk at the end they gasp at the pictures lining the walls. Last night they were of women, nude or in underwear, in penis straining erotic poses. Tonight they're of posing men, naked with penises hanging heavily or hard up erect, or just in tiny bulging briefs. But whether women or men, they're there for the same purpose - to give a taste of what's to come. The man at the desk is naked but for a bow tie and bulging speedo swim trunks. Karen pays, and they're in.
The walls are black draped, the lights are dim, and the place is already packed. Around Julie and her friends jostle women, young, middle aged and older, most in clothes as minimal as Julie's and her friends. Pounding music thumps, sweat and perfume fill the air and behind the bar all but naked men serve expensive drinks. The girls find a table, and their first bottle of Prosecco flows. Suddenly the lights go dimmer still, the curtains draw back across the stage, the spotlights blaze, the beat of the music changes - and the show begins.
On the stage there's a motorcycle, with a big red tank and lots of gleaming chrome. From the wings a man struts confidently onto the stage. A shrill, raucous shriek swells up from his audience of women. He's in blue jeans, a white tee shirt and a black leather motorcycle jacket and boots, with his head encased in a black, full visored helmet. He takes off his helmet and tosses it into the wings. He's twenties, red brown haired with a manly beard. He stands spread legged with arms akimbo to scan and leer at his wild audience.
Then to the beat of the music he strips. Leather jacket first, then howls rise from the crowd as his shirt flies off to reveal his bronzed six-pack chest. Boots, then jeans, till finally he's in black fishnet briefs, barely big enough to cover his cock and balls, with his erection forcing the fishnet cloth out in a big black cone. He bends over the tank to show the thin black thong strap in his bum crack. Shrieks and howls rise as he wiggles his bum, then to howls of glee his briefs slip down and off. He's naked!
His huge erect penis, hairless except for a ring of brown pubes round its base, swings stiffly as he struts round his stage, steps a foot up onto his bike and stands astride it thrusting his muscular hips. A woman throws her white panties onto the stage. She's followed by another then another, and knickers, panties and thongs fly onto the stage.
The Prosecco's had its effect. Julie slips her black satin thong down her bare legs and off, rolls it into a ball and stands.
"Julie!" Angie cries, but Julie's wild and there's no stopping her. She hurls her thong onto the stage to land at the stripper's feet.
A raucous chant of shrill women's voices swells up from the crowd, to which Julie and her friends add their shrieking voices:
"Mas-tur-bate! Mas-tur-bate! Mas-tur-bate!"
He looks at his audience, grins, fingers and strokes his hard up cock as if he's deciding whether to treat them to what they're screaming for.
"Mas-tur-bate! Mas-tur-bate! Mas-tur-bate!"
He picks up a woman's tiny white panties from the stage. He stands astride his bike, his penis bending up over the tank. He wipes the panties over his penis and balls, runs them between his legs, then hangs them on his hard up shaft.
"Mas-tur-bate! Mas-tur-bate! Mas-tur-bate!"
He thrusts his hips forward, his hand goes down and his whole fist wraps round his shaft. He tugs and strokes, rhythmically, methodically, full length with his hand riding over his knob. The white panties hung on his penis swing with the rhythm of his pumping hand. His hand goes frantic. He rams his hips forward, his head flops back with face twisted in ecstasy, and even over the pounding music and women's howls Julie can hear his grunt as the spotlights catch his jet of semen spurting over the tank and handlebars.
He stands astride his bike with his penis limp, dripping semen onto the tank. He wipes semen off his penis and his bike with the woman's white panties, then hurls them back into the audience. Then he steps off his bike, bows, turns his back on his audience and to applause, shrieks and howls, and with his penis swinging with his steps he strides naked off the stage.
The spotlights fade and the curtains close.
Prosecco flows, the girls giggle and chatter as they wait for the next show. Karen picks up the programme they were handed at the desk. Its glossy cover shows a man, bronzed and muscular, naked but for bulging light blue speedo trunks. Karen flicks the pages.
"Oh my god!" Barbara gasps.
The picture shows the man they've just watched strip. He's standing by his motorcycle, naked but for his black leather jacket. His penis is hanging heavily from his hair ringed balls, and he's carrying a leather whip.
"Karl. 27. 20cm x 5cm" reads the English text of the caption under his picture, followed by "Karl likes to play hard with tough men and girls who like it rough. Come and ride hard with me." There's a mobile phone number too. Karen flicks the pages through pictures of more young men, naked, in bulging swim trunks or underwear, thrusting huge erections, masturbating, and more phone numbers.
"Hi ladies. Are you enjoying the show?"
A man's voice interrupts their browsing. He's late twenties, tall, muscular, dark haired with designer stubble and a hammer wielding Norse god tattooed onto each bulging biceps. He's in a white tank top, tight black Lycra shorts and trainers. The girls look up and stare at him.
"May I join you, ladies?"
He sits at their table without waiting for their answer.
"Are you a stripper too?" asks Barbara, with a Prosecco fuelled giggle. "Do you show off your cock and wank on stage like that guy on the motorbike?"
"Yes Madame. My name is Jacques. Did you not see my act? But I prefer to masturbate on my bed over the body of a woman as lovely as you."
Jacques grins, puts his hand on Barbara's bare knee and slides his hand up her leg to lift what little there is of her denim miniskirt even higher up her thigh. Julie realises her dress is pulled high up her thighs, and from where Jacques is sitting he's looking right up her dress between her slightly spread thighs, and she's got no panties on. Julie's heart pounds. Trying to make it look accidental, she spreads her legs a little wider. Jacques notices!
"Now, would any of you lovely ladies like a private dance?"
"A private dance?" Angie echoes.
"Yes Madame, just you and me in one of the little booths, I will strip specially for you and do all the things a woman could ask for. I will do all the things you lovely ladies would never dare ask your husbands to do."
Angie laughs.
"We're all divorced, except Karen who's getting married."
