Misty 1

Through eyes hooded with desire, I watched as she swung lithely around the metal pole in the middle of the stage. Each movement was precise, controlled, and blatantly seductive. Her long chestnut hair flew smoothly around her face and shoulders, a mass of curls and waves, alternately shielding her face and framing her body. Multicolored lights flashed on stage and caressed her smooth, silky skin as she moved her body to the rhythm of rock 'n' roll blaring from the speakers.

I couldn't help but notice the way her beautiful breasts moved as she danced, and I longed to stroke the curves of them and touch the dark, rosy centers. And perhaps, just perhaps, run my tongue over her body; dip it into her navel where a small diamond glinted in the light… and a bit lower.

My entire body tingled as I imagined it.

"Are you okay?"

I glanced next to me, startled by the question from my husband of ten wonderful years. My entire body was tense, with nerves, with desire, with this insane craving to be with another woman.

I managed a nod. "Yes."

"What do you think of her?" he asked, bending closer to whisper the words into my ear.

"She's gorgeous. And talented." She certainly knew how to work a crowd. The men were alternately hooting and watching silently in stunned appreciation as her body undulated. She shimmied against the pole and squatted, knees spread, as she hooked one thumb into each side of the silk G-string she wore, drawing it down just a fraction of an inch. She cast a naughty smile at the crowd with her painted red lips and winked at one man who had been waving bills at her, then straightened and continued her routine.

"Take it off, take it off!" some of the men were shouting.

College boys,

I thought, but inwardly I wanted to join them in the chant.

She finally did, wriggling out of the scrap of silk and tossing it aside with a confidence and sensuality I admired. She performed an intricate series of twists and turns around the pole, showing just enough of her pussy to give me a jolt of yearning in the pit of my stomach. I wanted to kiss it, give it a long, delicious lick and bury my tongue into it.

She ended her routine on the exact last note of the song, with flair and a pose that left absolutely nothing to the imagination.

A low, moaning whimper sounded in the split second of silence between the last note and the enthusiastic applause, and I was embarrassed to realize it was me. Fortunately, she left the stage, her garter stuffed with bills, before I could do much more than blush.

"So?" My husband whispered into my ear.

I nodded and breathed deep. I knew what he was asking. "Let's do it."

We shifted to a table in the rear of the club for the next act, and, to help me gather my courage, ordered another round of drinks while we waited.

The next girl was pretty, but not as talented nor as easily sensual. While I enjoyed watching her, as did my husband, I could think of little else but seeing the first girl again.

"Misty?"

Oh fuck

. Apprehension, extreme want. She was already back.

Her eyes were liquid chocolate, dark and inviting, and just a bit apprehensive as she approached the table we'd chosen in a particularly shadowy corner. She was dressed in a fresh costume; bra, panties and a tailored button down shirt with long sleeves. She'd pinned her hair partially back, revealing more of her face. She walked confidently on strappy silver stilettos.

"Are you available for a lap dance?" My husband asked in a low tone.

Her lashes swept her cheeks as she glanced quickly between the two of us. She must have wondered at an obviously married man commissioning a dance in front of his wife, but she simply asked, "Contact?"

"Yes."

She named a sum that would have taken me aback had I not been turned on to the point of pain. Logically, I was sure it was high, but I had to respect the fact that she did not undervalue herself or her talent.

My husband indicated to Misty that the price was acceptable and she led the way down a narrow hallway to private rooms in the back of the building. The room was small and furnished with a small leather sofa that had obviously seen better days, but it was intimate and clean.

My husband settled on the couch, somewhat uncomfortably since his cock was already straining against his jeans. I sat next to him, but left a few inches of room between us. He flashed an encouraging smile at me which I tried to return but couldn't, as I was trembling from head to toe. My limbs felt weak and watery.

Misty approached my husband and he quickly redirected her. "I'm sorry, I should have clarified. This is for my wife."

"If that's okay," I added quickly, and then felt like an idiot.

Her gaze turned towards me and I could have sworn she looked amused. Her eyes softened. "Is this your first time?"

I nodded.

"You're beautiful," she said simply, reaching out one slim-fingered hand to lightly stroke my strawberry blonde hair. I immediately relaxed a few degrees. I wanted to tell her she was beautiful as well, but it sounded inadequate. And repetitive. "Don't be nervous. You'd be surprised how many women we get in here. Would you like some music?"

I nodded, thinking it might help me relax a little more. She stepped away to turn on a CD player that I hadn't noticed before and then returned. "Now, you can touch as much as you want, but no insertion and no oral contact."

I blushed a deep red as the music began, but nodded. She began to move, slowly and minutely at first, turning and bending as she began unbuttoning the sleeves of her shirt. She faced me and smiled encouragingly, gesturing to the buttons down her front. "Want to help?"

I glanced at my husband and he smiled and nodded, so I reached up a shaking hand to release the buttons one by one.

Dear God, I'm undressing another woman!

I thought wildly, and felt a fresh pang of desire as her lacy black bra and panties were revealed. Up close, she was even more beautiful than she'd been onstage; her skin was smooth, soft, and delicately scented, her curves perfectly proportioned, perfectly natural.

As the music played, a slow, soft, wordless melody, she turned and gave me an excellent up close view of her curvaceous ass.

I wanted to touch it, so I did, trailing a hand down each side in a light caress.

"Nice," she said encouragingly, with a slow smile as she faced me again. Her lashes drifted to her cheeks and I hoped the expression on her face was real emotion and not a put on act.

For now, I'd assume it was real. I let my hands drift down the sides of her smooth, leanly muscled legs and admired the lines of her calves, accentuated by the sexy heels. "You're absolutely gorgeous," I murmured, without realizing I'd spoken aloud.

She knelt so her eyes were level with mine and gazed into my face as she reached around and unlatched the lace demi bra. "Feel free to touch more," she whispered.

I absolutely had to touch her breasts. I reached with both hands and touched them lightly at first, then more firmly as her nipples peaked. I rubbed my thumbs over them and moaned softly at the eroticism of touching another woman there, something I'd never done. As I did, she raised her arms and played with her hair, all the while maintaining eye contact.

I was so wet, and I longed to simply kiss her, to touch her everywhere, to lower her to the floor and lick her until she was screaming with pleasure.

Of course, I didn't. I looked, I touched, I enjoyed, I fantasized, but I restrained myself.

She turned and lowered her ass into my lap, enabling me to reach around from behind and cup her breasts in my hands as she turned little circles with her hips. I raised my own hips to lightly bump hers as I ran my hands down her flat, smooth abdomen, along her thighs and impulsively close to her pussy. I couldn't help the tiny sound that escaped my mouth.

She straightened, too soon for my liking, and turned again to whisper into my ear. "Want to help take these off?" One thumb hooked into her panties. "We'll give your husband a nice show."

I'd completely forgotten him! I glanced his way and realized he was completely lost in the show he'd already gotten, with one hand unashamedly down his jeans, and his eyes nearly closed.

I smiled at her, less shy now. "Oh, yes." I reached out and drew the black lace slowly down, down her long legs, feasting my eyes on the flesh I revealed. Her pussy was gorgeous, small and tight, the dark hair that framed it trimmed to a small triangle. I caught a faint hint of sex and wondered briefly if dancing for me could have possibly turned her on as well. I certainly hoped so.

I wanted to devour her, and felt a fresh rush of dampness between my legs when she whispered, "It's okay if you want to touch."

If?

I touched, but was careful not to violate the rule about oral contact or insertion. I touched her outer lips, ran my hands around to her ass as she continued to move her hips and shift her body in a smooth, sensual way. She turned again, facing away from me, and bent, lowering her body so that I could again touch her from behind, and I did, tracing her spine, the curve of her waist, caressing her hair before I allowed myself to again, very gently, run my fingers up her thighs and over her pussy. She was very definitely damp, but I was forbidden to explore more.

Then, the music stopped.

She was absolutely still for a moment, and so was I. None of us spoke, and then she straightened. "So, what did you think of your first lap dance?"

I could barely trust myself to speak, but managed, "Unbelievable."

She laughed, reaching for her underwear and clothes. "I'd glad you enjoyed it. You'll have to come back sometime."

I most definitely would.

"Do you want to pay me here, or up front at the cash register?"

My husband had brought cash, and roused himself enough to retrieve it. He handed her a stack of bills, and probably added a hefty tip, of which I was hugely in favor.

"I'll be right back with your receipt, okay?"

"Receipt?" I couldn't help asking.

"Yeah," she frowned. "It's required. It'll just be a minute, okay?"

Once she left the room, my husband was suddenly in a hurry to leave. As a result, we were waiting by the exit when Misty approached us with our receipt, which my husband hurriedly stuffed into his back pocket without viewing.

Misty turned to me and leaned forward, surprising me with a long, slow brush of my lips with hers. As she drew back, she smiled knowingly. "Thank you so much. It was a pleasure. Come again!"

I raised a hand to my lips, pleasantly surprised by the kiss, but I couldn't help but chuckle at her words; I intended to

come

many times.

The moment the door slid closed behind us, my husband grabbed my hand and pulled me hurriedly towards our car.

"I'm sorry, I can

not

wait until we get home to fuck you," he said breathlessly, and his eagerness had me running along beside him.

"Thank God!" I answered. Why he was apologizing was beyond me.

When we reached the car, he slammed me against the side and pinned me there with his body. I didn't feel the chill of the night air as he ripped the fragile silk of my shirt from the neck to the hem, only the warmth and need of his mouth on mine, his tongue attacking, battling mine, his hands, warm on my naked skin as the silk fell to the ground. My bra was torn off next and tossed aside, my skirt pushed up impatiently as he ignored the scrap of silk I wore beneath and plunged his fingers into my wet pussy.

"Aw!" I cried out in shock and pleasure as he pushed his cock against me, hard, and bit my lips.

I bit back and tasted blood as I grasped his shirt in both hands, yanking it hurriedly out of his waistband and running my hands over the hard muscles of his abdomen and chest, around the back to slip down his jeans and cup his tight ass.

"You wanted to fuck her, didn't you?" he asked in a rough voice. "You wanted to lick her pussy and you wanted her to lick you."

"Yes, I did," I admitted breathlessly.

"God, I wanted to fuck you both," he replied. "I wanted to fuck her while she licked you."

"Fuck me instead," I begged. "Fuck me, hard."

He grabbed me as if I weighed nothing and slid me down to the hood of the sedan, pushing me away and turning me until I faced away from him. Violently, he pushed me down and shoved my skirt up with one hand, releasing his cock from his jeans with the other. I felt the wet tip of it run up and down the crack of my ass before he pushed it roughly into my pussy. I clung to the cold metal of the car as he fucked me, plunging in and out, fast and furious. He reached one hand around to grasp one of my naked breasts, and with the other teased my clit until I came with a loud, long scream.

I came again, building, peaking, exploding, screaming, and again. Finally, the fourth time I came, he joined me, coming long and hard, his cock pulsing deep inside of me as he pumped my pussy full of his cum.

Spent and exhausted, we both collapsed against the hood, the aftershocks still raging through our bodies. I could hear my heart pounding in my ears and struggled to regain my breath.

"I want to do it again," I whispered even as my sensitive clit throbbed and fluid ran down my thighs, and he laughed out loud.

"Give me five minutes," he replied, and it was my turn to giggle, a hysterical sound that echoed oddly in the abandoned lot.

We adjusted our clothes as best we could; I had to do some hunting to locate my bra and what was left of my favorite silk shirt, while all he had to do was zip his pants. We climbed into the car and sat for a few minutes, holding hands and simply breathing, and remembering.

He drew the receipt from his jeans pocket and handed it to me. "Was it worth it?"

I accepted the slip of paper and unfolded it. It wasn't a register receipt, simply a scrap of paper covered with curly handwriting.

If you want more, call me privately. 555-1298. Love, Misty.