I'm Ronnie, Veronica; Ron-Ron to some. I've been go-go dancing at my boss Chet's club in the Haight-Ashbury for a year now. With the full consent and urging of my boyfriend David, I've gotten into some interesting, and, yeah, lucrative scenes.
I didn't start out to do sex for money, but when the chance comes along---dancing nude in the club's private back room for members only, letting David film me being fucked by friends or strangers, being the present at a birthday party, things like that---I do. Not a lot, just enough to make me feel like a man's total plaything and possession. Which I love feeling like, by the way. But we always need a few extra bucks, and frankly I'm thrilled to do it and get paid. (I'm just as thrilled to do it for free, of course, too.)
What I like best is being forced. Well, you really can't say it's rape, against my will, not when I'm enjoying every second of it, but the guys like to see me, and enjoy me, tied down naked after a "struggle", and I like them to do it. So after the birthday party success (not only paid but I got a fur coat out of it!), David and I started to think of other possibilities...
Chet brought me a message one night that a valued club patron would like to enjoy private overnight horizontal dancing with me, for the usual handsome fee, and we were a little short that week at home, so I said yes, as David and I had agreed I could. "Good girl," said Chet, smiling. "Be waiting for him in your dressing room after the show."
There are three or four small dressing rooms in the back of the club, fitted with kingsize beds, showers and all the sex toys you can imagine. I'm not the only girl who obliges club customers, but I'm the star dancer, so I have the nicest room. I've decorated it myself, so it looks like a beautiful harem chamber, with rich, colorful drapes and fabrics, fur throws and pillows, mirrored walls and ceilings, and the men never fail to dig it.
When the patron arrived, I was kneeling by the bed, head down, my costume on again. I'd learned this was how the men like it, the ones who'd seen me dance and want to have me after: they want to see me submissive and waiting, ready for them to strip me.
He pulled me up by the arm, and I saw who it was. I didn't know his name, but he came to the club regularly. I love big men, they make me feel utterly female when they fuck me, and this one was absolutely gorgeous: had to be six-six and 225 pounds, powerful build, long shaggy ash-blond hair to his shoulders, darker than my own gold-blond, neatly trimmed full beard. He looked like a Viking prince, or the king of the surfers. In the private club I'd often danced directly to him, letting him rip off the tearaway bikini, displaying my body to him, but he'd never asked for me before and I'd never spoken to him.
He touched my cheek gently. "I've wanted this for quite a while, you know," he said in a deep, English-accented voice, or maybe Danish. "I'm curious to see if you fuck as well as you dance."
"I'll do my best, I'm yours for the night," I said, eyes cast down modestly. I was amazed to find myself shivering at his touch; this was going to be good.
"Indeed you are," he said, smiling, and picked me up and lay me down on the bed. He began stripping my costume off—didn't take very long, there's not much there—and when I was naked, he began running his hands over me, studying me like a textbook on female anatomy. I'm not muscled or anything, even as a dancer: my body is slim but curvy, soft and, men tell me, very desirable, with long legs that make up way more than half my height.
"So sweet...you're so fuckable."
"Then fuck me." I was having a hard time getting words out, being instantly turned on. His hands had traveled down to my crotch, and he was tugging gently on my piercings. I had a clit bar in, and six rings, three on each outer labia, that were often linked by chains to my navel and nipple rings. I also had a nose ring in, which really seems to turn the guys on.
He clamped one strong hand over my entire smooth, bare mound, gripping hard, and closed the other, gently but firmly, around my throat, and I went very still, suddenly aware that this was no man to trifle with, that quite apart from him paying to use me, I would do well to obey his smallest wish and least command.
But he just smiled down at me, the smile of a man in possession of a woman he's about to enjoy. "I'm going to fuck you in every hole you have, slut."
In less than a minute he had me utterly helpless, spread-eagled and tied down, and was eating me out at his leisure, slowly and expertly, his hands cupping my ass. I loved the way his long hair brushed my thighs, like extra fingers; the way his beard felt against my smooth snatch; the way his lips took possession of my delicate soft parts; and I moaned as his mouth found my slit among the rings, flicking at my clit, the point of his tongue entering me delicately, then his lips drawing my clit into his mouth and sucking it hard, raking it between his teeth, biting at my pussy lips and clit hood until I was begging him to take me.
I wanted to feel him deep inside me, riding me like a stallion covering a mare: it was what I was here for. I wanted to look down along my glistening naked body and watch his beautiful thick cock disappearing into my hot wet softness, I wanted him to piledrive me until I screamed so loud they'd hear me on the Golden Gate Bridge.
But he had ideas of his own. Suddenly he stopped eating me, reared back and stripped his clothes off; God, he was beautiful, all muscled and hard. Naked now, he moved to straddle my face, his hands twisted in my long hair holding my head still for him, and I eagerly opened my mouth to take him in. His uncut English cock went deep, pushing on my nose ring as I sucked and tongued his massive shaft.
But he didn't want me to blow him, and he pulled out after a minute to kneel between my legs and poise his cock at my entrance, fingers at work; between his tongue and my own juices my slit was dripping wet by now. Being tied down, I couldn't wrap my arms and legs around him as I longed to, and he knew that. He watched my face as he began to mount me, his dick slipping tantalizingly just barely in, and then as my little moans and gasps got more urgent and more intense, he finally plunged in, hard and deep.
I screamed and arched my back: he was huge, one of the thickest, biggest cocks I'd ever had in me, and he felt terrific. I loved the feeling of his weight on me, his strength pinning me to the bed, his dick stretching out my cunt and the feel of it inside me as it moved against the walls of my cunt, the texture of his skin and the hardness of his muscles against my softness, the way he made my whole body move up toward the head of the bed with every thrust he gave me—like I was the lollipop and he was the stick.
I writhed under him, pushing my hips up in time to his motion, and as we started to come together, that delirious exploding wave of feeling coming up from my crotch, unstoppable, we both cried out, and he fell on me, biting my neck like a mating lion to mark me as his.
We weren't done, though; he hardened up again inside me almost at once, and before he was spent that second time he had made me come five times in a single fuck. But he'd paid for me for the whole night, and before we fell asleep for a bit, he had me suck him off, and used my ass a few times too: from behind, me flat on the bed; flipping me onto my back and bending my legs back, or over his shoulders.
My cunt wasn't neglected: once he knelt upright on the bed and pulled me up to meet his cock, only my feet and shoulders on the bed, his strong hands holding me to meet his cock driving into my dripping cunt, like I was the plowblade and he was the plow. And he plowed me good and hard.
I love it when men just do whatever they want to me and never ask my permission; it's the natural way. If a man uses a woman to please himself, it generally pleases her too, because she's made to please him. That's how we're wired.
"You are incredible," he gasped later, on his knees behind me with my heart-shaped ass in the air: his cock buried in my cunt, my head and bound arms on the bed as he pulled me back onto him by my shoulders, driving forward into me, fucking me as if he owned me. Well, he did, for that night at least.
In the mirrors, I loved the look of our bodies joined together: my creamy pale skin, his surfer's tan against it, his long blond hair falling forward to hide his face, the way he looked kneeling there slamming into me, the way I looked bent over before him.
"You're pretty incredible yourself," I gasped back as he made me come yet again. He'd used me it seemed like dozens of times in every possible position, with toys from vibrators to nipple clamps; he'd even whipped me once or twice. I hoped he felt he'd gotten his money's worth out of me; actually I felt like I should be paying him, I'd enjoyed him so much.
In the morning, he was gone, a generous tip left for me and the fee paid to Chet as usual. I saw him once or twice again at the club, but he never said a word to me and never even smiled. I knew I'd pleased him very much, so I wasn't really concerned, but then he stopped showing up and I figured maybe he'd moved away.
A few months later, I was leaving the club one cool night full of San Francisco fog; I was wearing my tear-off dancing bikini, fastened only by thin ribbon-paper ties so men could just pull it off me, and over it a long tapestry coat I'd picked up at a Haight boutique. I looked around for my usual car service, but he wasn't there yet, so I stood there waiting.
