As she reached across the bar for her drink, Shawna's big, pink areole peeped over the top of the loose, white, silk camisole she wore. She turned slightly to her right to grab some money for her drink out of her Louis Vuitton wrist bag, and her pink nipple delicately followed its areole. The bartender grinned in appreciation, but he wasn't the intended target for this showing of her prime real estate. Jimmy Murphy, one seat to her right at the bar, had been tracking her popping nipple for the last half-hour. As Shawna darted about like a hummingbird seeking nectar, pecking a friend's cheek here, hugging a friend there, Jimmy had gotten hard. She worked the crowd this way every Friday night and Jerry Cotton, the owner of "Cotton's Club", ought to have paid her to show up. A host of guys came every Friday just to see her and find out if they had won her raffle for the evening.
Shawna was damned serious about her nip slips. They were part entertainment for the crowd, part titillation for her and a tool of conquest that she had sharpened to a keen edge. Nip slips made her slit dampen as she flaunted her pointed nips and popped her booty to the DJ's booming selections. Mostly they were aimed at trolling and hooking a conquest for her Friday night, legendary sexual needs.
From a teenager on, Shawna had discovered flashing nips as a surefire way of getting any guy she wanted. Selectively applied, enveloped in her sexy persona, with graceful moves, soft voice, flaming red hair and piercing green eyes, the nipple flash was the closer for dozens of seductions. She split up more than one couple, some that had been together for years. It was her game of games. Some played video games in a fantasy world; she played for the real thing. Some captured fairy princesses from the dragons; she captured men and saved them from the humdrum of boring sex, worn out affairs, and those porn-addicted weekends of hand-cranked euphoria.
She closed the gap on her prey.
"Hi, I'm Shawna," she said to Jimmy. "I see you here pretty often, don't I?"
As she queried him, she leaned forward to pick up a bar napkin and her right breast came perilously close to escaping the confines of the camisole. She bumped into Jimmy's arm with that breast just a bit, but it was enough. Jimmy flinched like he'd been branded in a Texas cattle roundup, pulling his arm back with wide-open, frightened eyes.
"What? Uh, sorry I didn't mean to bump into..."
Shawna finished the sentence for him. "My tit? Don't worry. You might say I aimed wrong. I wanted to smack the palm of your hand, not your elbow. I'll bet you can aim better than that and always hit a girl's target, right?"
She laughed out loud at that and Jimmy turned beet red from embarrassment. She leaned in closer to his ear and with a breathy exhalation she whispered into his ear, "That tit needs a man's lips, and she has a sister in need too. You wouldn't let them suffer now, would you, babe?"
Jimmy Murphy had no clue what to say next. At his age and given his seat at the bar of what was arguably one of the hottest meat-market clubs in town, you would have thought he rode an eight-inch cock that tasted pussy frequently. You might have guessed he had inspected a great variety of tastes and smells. Not so. Jimmy, the handsome young dude, was a virgin, not quite clean as the driven snow though. He had masturbatory adventures with girls off and on, heavy petting sessions, and even a few nice blowjobs to notch on his bed post, but no fucking, nada, zilch, zero.
Jimmy looked to be in his late twenties; in fact, he had just turned twenty-one. The frequent visits to the club had started as a birthday present to himself on the day he could legally drink. He was tall, slim and very nice looking. His button down collar shirt was out of context in a place where T-shirts and jeans were the norms. His neatly pressed, summer-weight wool, gray trousers fit well, but with one flaw. The tailor had not counted on a young man's growing cock when confronted with sexual stimulation by a gorgeous woman.
Shawna stayed close to his ear, continuing to brush her breast against the arm of his shirt. The bulge in his pants had not escaped her keen eye. She could look into a room full of young men and spot the erections if they made one turn of their body to full frontal position. Even a side view would do. She was a keen student of male arousal.
"Dance with me," she whispered loudly in his ear.
The music had moved up to that level of sexual, lustful energy that promised dance floor couplings, fondling, disrobing, and cum sprayed on the polished floor.
Shawna's right breast was now fully exposed, having slipped its moorings from the camisole as she pulled Jimmy to the crowd. He had tried to hide his erection with his hand until she slapped it away and looked him in the face and made the unmistakable sign of "No" with her mouth. Jimmy stood up straighter and thrust his groin forward like a male stripper ready to unleash his member. She smiled and gave him 'thumbs up'.
Although the floor was crowded, when Shawna showed up the sea parted for the waves she created. The twisting, swinging mob knew her mating dance was about to begin. She grabbed Jimmy by the waist, pulled him to her hard, and moved her face smoothly toward his. Her tongue was sticking out and waving suggestively, a heat-seeking missile looking for its target. She found his mouth, half open in the anxiety of the moment as Jimmy began to sweat even before the dance was beginning. She rammed her tongue home, driving into his mouth, rolling it around his tongue and teeth, probing his gums, marking his tongue and sucking his saliva as if it were a life-giving elixir. The crowd roared; then she pushed away and started to dance.
Both pert breasts were now out of her camisole, the nipples bright pink guide marks in the fog of smoke and the throng of bodies. The smell of sex was in the air as she swayed, spun, thrust her naked breasts forward and slowly approached Jimmy. He was transfixed, frozen on the spot.
As she neared him, she spun, unclasping the catch at the top of her wrap-around skirt. She spun the other way and the skirt separated from her body with a flourish, going down like the cape of a bullfighter in a moment of triumph. Now topless, dressed only in a white lace thong and black nylons with garter belt, her stiletto heels, and a smile, she began yelling to the strong Latin beat.
She came to him and with strong hands ripped the buttons off his shirt, spread it, and began to rub her tits softly against his chest. All the while, she did a frenetic bump-and-grind into his groin with her pussy mound. The front panel of her thong showed a sopping wetness, rivulets running down her leg looking like she'd peed.
