Uptown Spun

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Incest—a word that has extreme negative connotations. The image that most often comes about when the word is mentioned is that of a father forcing himself on his daughter. Any forcible sex act, especially done by a parent to a child, should result in the parent being punished in legal and non-legal ways.

This is a fantasy of consensual incest between adults. It is intended for adults who are interested in reading about consensual sex between relatives. If this offends you, do not continue any further.

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His theme song,

Uptown Funk

, was cued up. It was a remixed, longer version of the hit single. The first bit of lyrics blared out.

Doh

Doh doh doh, doh doh doh, doh doh

Doh doh doh, doh doh doh, doh doh

He stepped out onto center stage.

"Awwwwright, ladies!" primed the announcer.

He was dressed in a navy pin-stripe suit, white shirt, and sky blue tie in bare feet. A 1940's style fedora was cocked to one side and masked his youthful, handsome face. His arms were outstretched in front of him, one hand over the other. This was his entrance pose.

Doh doh doh, doh doh doh, doh doh

His hips swiveled to the left and to the right and back, eliciting screams of delight and desire from the audience.

"You know him! You love him! You can't live without him!"

Doh doh doh, doh duh

"BobbyThreads!!"

Aaaaaaow!

The spotlight hit Robert Dante, 23. The recent college graduate, who was unable to get a job in his field because of lack of experience, strutted out to the front of the stage and began his show at The Ladies Room, the premiere strip club for women in New York's Westchester County on this Saturday night.

Before him was a smaller-than-usual audience of screaming, horny women who had a drink in one hand and a dollar bill in the other. The Ladies Room had been closed to the public this evening, reserved for a special party. It was a divorce party, or as some called it, a divorce shower, the antithesis of a bridal shower.

The 6 foot Adonis sauntered out to near the edge of the stage and danced. His routine included plenty of strutting, hip undulations, self-pleasuring, and thrusting of his groin.

Gotta kiss myself I'm so pretty!

At this point, young Dante kissed his right hand, dropped it to his crotch, and started to sensually rub the coveted, growing bulge. This got the women, like every night he performed, screeching in voyeuristic glee.

I'm too hot (hot damn)

Called a police and a fireman

I'm too hot (hot damn)

Make a dragon wanna retire, man

I'm too hot (hot damn)

Say my name you know who I am

I'm too hot (hot damn)

Am I bad 'bout that money

Break it down

"Come on, Threads!" and "Come on down!" they encouraged, many waving their hands in the universal "come over here" signal.

Robert was now revolving his ass while playing pocket-pool. The girls were ogling and mewing as he stroked his dick. He could see the breakdown in terms of looks for this private party was the usual. 60% were anywhere from cute to hot, another 20% were water buffalos, and the other 20% were so fat you'd need a building permit to mount them.

After he got his cock at full mast, he slinked down the small staircase to the audience, his outstretched suit pants leading the way.

'Cause Uptown Funk gonna give it to you

'Cause Uptown Funk gonna give it to you

'Cause Uptown Funk gonna give it to you

Saturday night and we're in the spot

Don't believe me, just watch (Come on)

Standing in front of the women, Bob strutted to the left and to the right. He rolled his hips and fucked the air. Then he was still.

Stop!

Wait a minute!

Threads tossed away his fedora in a windmill-like motion, revealing to all the ladies his youthful, fine-looking, smiling face.

He proceeded to his appointed destination. This was the center of the room where the "star" of the evening was seated on a plush love seat. The star was the woman who just got divorced, who he was supposed to "entertain". But first he had to maneuver through her coworkers.

Bob moved about the screaming, adoring, eager female group. Like a politician working the crowd, he would briefly stop to let them touch him. And touch they did. Actually 'maul' would be a more appropriate description.

Hands were all over Bobby Thread's body, especially his groin and butt. They heatedly grabbed his erection, caressing the fabric-covered stalk, and palming the rigid length. Two or three cupped his balls. They squeezed his rear, as if hurriedly inspecting the ripeness of selected fruit.

He stopped; they squeezed. He loved it; they loved it.

Smoother than a fresh jar o' Skippy

"Oh, he's so hard!"

"Love your big dick, Bobby!"

"Hmmmm!"

"Nice buns, baby!"

As he cut a swath through the bevy of women, their hands also rubbed his chest and played with his tie. A few ladies made him stop to get a brief kiss. The bold ones hiked up their dresses to display to him that they went commando. Several stuck dollar bills, pieces of paper with telephone numbers on them, or business cards into his jacket pockets. Moreover they shoved the crumbled items into his front pants pockets to get a quick feel of the protruding manhood.

After he got through the gauntlet of girls, the stud was now before the divorced star of the night.

Whew

he silently whispered to himself.

This evening's star was attractive, which meant she would get the "full package." This was lingo between him and his male colleagues meaning that during a private party such as this, if the star was good-looking they could suck and fuck the stripper.

The woman sitting before him was in her late 30s, with dirty blonde hair. Her 'little black dress' did a remarkable job at telling Threads that this woman's ex was brain dead. Her braless breasts, the size of fresh cantaloupes, heaved with her excited breathing and looked like they were going to jump out of the spacious top. Her nipples were turgid. The hem of the dress did a lousy job at covering but did a marvelous job at highlighting her ivory, naked thighs. Her legs appeared short, but got his attention. They were crossed, with the feet in black "fuck me" pumps. Her blue eyes sparkled with desire.

"Martha?" he inquired. He personally thought it was dumb that he had to ask the girl sitting in the love seat her name. His boss said customers love hearing their own name.

"Mmmm!" she salaciously confirmed with a slow nod. She sized up Bob, eventually eyeing his swaying hips and thrusting, mountainous crotch.

"Nice to meet you Martha," he said, offering her a smoky, sexy look and cocky smile.

"NICE to meet you, Bobby Threads!"

Their eyes locked onto each other.

"Please, it's Marti." She lowered her gaze to his undulating erection, then returned to meet his eyes. She sensually licked her lips.

"And Marti wants to party," she hissed in a tone full of carnal confidence and hunger.

Hah!

She leaned forward toward the raven-haired stripper, offering him the lovely sight of her naked breasts dancing below the neckline. With her eyes still transfixed on his, she placed her hand on the top of his bulge. She seductively rubbed the cockhead, first with her palm and then the flats of her fingers.

Hah!

"Ohhhh!" the young stallion moaned, tossing his head back.

Marti, staring intently at this virile specimen of hardness, licked her lips when she felt it pulsate. She moved her hand like she was absentmindedly wiping a dish. The amorous beauty guessed he was at least seven inches.

While she fondled Threads her thong was saturating rapidly, her juices steadily flowing into the gusset. Her still-crossed thighs were also getting smeared. When she slipped her hand between Bob's thighs to cup his nuts, she naughtily wondered about the vast amount of cum which was brewing down there. She rubbed her greasy thighs together, elicited a soft moan, and then splayed them apart.

The song moved into the remixed portion which was primarily music and the occasional

Hah!

thrown in for an erotic effect.

Threads plied himself away from Marti's hand and continued his routine. It was known through The Ladies' Room "community" that the patrons paid to see the strippers do the Full Monty, jerk off and ejaculate in front of the evening star...or in the star's mouth...or in her cunt.

Michelangelo's David shimmied and shook, undulated and danced in his suit for about a minute more in front of the evening's star. This intentional delay was to get her and the crowd worked up. It was successful.

"Take it off!" they screamed loudly.

Bobby, maintaining his enticing gyrations, spread open his jacket, removed it and tossed it to the floor. He strutted in front of the divorcee, letting her and the others view his sculpted chest through the fitted dress shirt.

Next off was the tie, which he unknotted and worked like a lasso around Marti's neck, pulling her in for a kiss. The lip-lock was hot and hungry, their eager tongues dueling with each other.

Marti's sexual arousal was intensifying. Lately she was enjoying a gratifying bi fling with her coworker. Just the other night her friend, who Marti had seduced into the Sapphic realm, gave her cunt a tongue-lashing which caused the dirty blonde to see stars. But Marti could never forget the incredible feel all straight women love...that of a hard, robust, and insatiable cock plowing away at their drooling twat.

She broke the French kiss and furiously grabbed Bob by the open collar. With two fistfuls of the crumbled, pointed material, Marti tore open his shirt.

"Aaarrghhh!" she yelled in triumphant.

Almost all of the shirt buttons went flying like shrapnel as the insatiable woman revealed to herself and her coworkers Bob's Herculean pecs and six-pack abs.

A chorus of "Ohhhh!" went up from the female surveyors, some putting up their hands to block the incoming buttons. Marti just panted, staring at the youthful, masculine chest adorned with black, curly hair. She licked her lips at his prominent, upright nipples. Animalistically she lunged for the left one, carefully wrapping her lips around it.

"Oh, fuck!" exclaimed the strapping lad.

The cougar beauty nuzzled the teat hungrily, released it, dragged the flat of her tongue across his chest to the other pink cap and suckled it as well.

Rounds of "Yeah, Marti!" and "Do it!" came from the onlookers.

Despite the pleasure he was enjoying, the stripper stepped away from the voracious MILF and danced a bit more, now only clad in his pants. He cast a quick look around the room. Women were standing or seated at their tables watching him. The horniest ones at the tables had their legs spread and rubbing themselves. There were even two babes, sitting side-by-side, rubbing each other. One heifer was flashing her boobs at him. Then all their voices were raised, thanks to his next feat.

"Yeah!!" was the approving cheer in unison.

Bobby Threads had quickly pulled off his pants—his tear-away pants, tossed them, and was now dancing in only a satin, royal blue G-string.

At this point, there wasn't a pair of dry female underwear in the club. Also the women who were individually and mutually rubbing themselves quickened their pace.

Bob stood with his feet apart, arms pulled back and his muscular chest out. He stood proud—and excited. This was his drug of choice, standing virtually naked in front of horny women with his big hard cock, barely and tightly encased in a hyped-up Speedo, sticking out at them like a tree branch. It gave him such a rush,

The studly dancer put his hands behind his head and slinked back in front of Marti. He shook his ass, and thrusted his crotch at her. Her eyes had a glassy appearance and it seemed like she was hyperventilating. Threads put one leg up on the back of the love seat. Marti's eyes widen at the sight of his lean thighs parting and being stretched, revealing only inches away the equally-stretched G-string. Bob shook his moneymaker at the her.

Marti leaned in quickly and engulfed the erection, whorishly sucking on the top portion through the cobalt material.

"Uugghhhh!" wailed Bob.

His next wail was even louder and got a riotous cheer from the crowd. The divorcee was carefully using her teeth to put a little pressure around the edge of the cock-crown. At the same time her hand cradled his balls, massaging them through the taut fabric. Finally the white-hot babe just started licking up and down the covered shaft, frantically and shamelessly.

Threads felt like his pupils were going to launch out of their sockets. This woman was going ape-shit on his dick—through the G-string. He quickly surmised she could probably suck the chrome off a trailer hitch. It's a good thing he took as always the PE pill before he hit the stage. He knew without the pre-performance tablet he would have cum right now.

The rambunctious audience let loose with a filthy chant. "Suck that dick! Suck that dick!"

She reached for the waistband of the blue pouch. At the same time, his stretched thigh suddenly pained him. The excruciating sensation was too much for him.

"Marti! Marti! My thigh—it's killing me. Let go, let me stand," he begged, unfolding his leg from the back of the chair.

As the stripper moved back so that he could stand, her hand going for the G-string never made it, while the other and her mouth were dislodged from his crotch. It was an abrupt interruption but understandable. The interruption also caused her to remember a promise she made.

The blonde MILF jumped up from the love seat and stood right in front of him. She was so close to Bob that his still-covered pecker was flat against her stomach. The crowd shrieked in delight.

"Hmmm, Bobby Threads," she purred in his ear, "before you fuck my brains out, would you mind if my good friend joins us?"

She didn't let him answer, simply dabbing her tongue at his earlobe, causing him to shiver.

"Don't worry, she's a hottie like me. She's not as hot as me," she snickered, "but you WON'T be disappointed. The poor thing hasn't had cock in—shit, longer than me! I agreed to let her suck you before you fuck me. Is that ok, hmmm?"

Despite Bob's head nodding swiftly in anxious agreement, Marti continued on, her fingernails lightly scratching his chest, going down his stomach to his protrusion.

"Is that ok, Bobby Threads? Having one hot, horny cougar blow you and then fuck another hot, horny cougar—right here in front of all these other woman? she seductively inquired.

Her hand made its way under the waistband. Marti was now holding the bare, stiff, and pulsing cock.

"Oh, Bobby! I could see you had a big cock as you were dancing, but now..." her palm had covered the spacious vein which ran along the shaft, "I can feel it!"

She nibbled on his earlobe. His eyes rolled back in his head.

"It would really mean a lot to me to see my friend suck this big, bad-boy," she naughtily prattled on, giving his erection a lustful squeeze.

"Aaahhh!" he exhaled.

"Maybe, I'll help her...would you like that, Threads? Would like that—two women going down on you at the same time?"

Stimulated yet very frustrated, Bob growled, "Yes!"

"Good."

With her response, Marti yanked down the G-string. Bob's sizeable penis, harder than Chinese algebra, popped out and bounced against his washboard stomach. Marti's eyes along with the eyes of every woman in The Ladies Room flared open, seeing Bobby Threads' cock in the literal flesh.

The dirty blonde was enraptured by the male sex. She quickly scanned its 7 inch span, licked her lips at its lush girth, admired the well-kept pubic patch, then licked her lips again at the large, dark pinkish meatballs hanging underneath. The only thing wrong with this picture was the G-string which she had pulled down near mid thigh. She didn't want a stitch of clothing on her boy-toy. She frantically grabbed the material.

"Come on! Come on!" she urgently coached Bob to pull one leg than the other out of the underwear.

Marti, now on her knees, brought the sweaty, garment up to her nose. She inhaled deeply, letting his youthful, manly scent permeate her nose. She tossed the garment onto the chair and gazed upward. The naked Adonis towered over her, his hands on his hips, and a knowing grin on his face. Her face was so close to the luscious member. It was rock hard, sticking out like a flagpole and practically grazing her cheek.

Oh, how she wanted this young buck all to herself. But she recalled her promise to her lover. As horny she was, she couldn't break her friend's heart. That already had been done years ago. Almost reluctantly, she looked back over her shoulder and called out.

"Athena!"

Upon hearing that name Rob's head, like a deer who hears a twig snap in the silent woods, jerked up and his eyes flew to the same direction where Marti was looking.

Two women standing toward the right of the love seat stepped aside to allow a third woman to appear. This third one, a brunette, was ravishing. Her tan, curvaceous body was provocatively accented by her tangerine-colored dress. Though modest in terms of the others' high slits and plunging necklines, it did offer a decent view of cleavage. Its suggestiveness, though, was in its tightness. It was like the skin on a grape, highlighting her traffic-stopping breasts and flaring hips.

Bob's mouth dropped open. The sound of her four-inch stilettos, clicking on the floor as she made her way to the couple, cut through the music and the crowd's chatter, and reverberated in his ears.

Marti glanced at Bob. She chuckled at his astonished look. Then she viewed her friend. It always amazed her how Athena was a virtual copy of Sofia Vergara. Yet it bewildered Marti how her occasional bedmate looked so sheepishly now. The approaching beauty seemed embarrassed.

Young Dante's eyes blinked.

No! It can't be!

screamed his frantic, tumultuous mind.

Athena's eyes were cast on to the floor. When she got close to Marti and the stripper, she looked at her on-and-off lover with a "What did you do?" look.

What the fuck is up with her?

Marti silently wondered, then offered to herself,

She must be in shock seeing such a stud with such a schlong.

Bob's mouth was in the shape of a capital 'O.'

The crowd had a new chant: "'thena! 'thena!"

Athena struggled to look up. Very gradually, her eyes met his.

"Bobby Threads," Marti introduced, "this is my friend, Athena."

The dancer and friend looked at each other. They were both mortified, trying desperately not to make it obvious to the others.

Bob stood in front of his 42 year-old mother, Athena, naked as the day she gave birth to him, and sporting a lengthy, aroused hard-on.

"Hello, Athena," he managed to softly croak.

"Hi, Bobby Threads."

Mother and son were beyond astounded at seeing each other at this moment in time, in this way, in this place. Time stopped for the two. They were suddenly, unexpectedly thrown into their own world. It was a world of utter shock and embarrassment.

His mind remembered Humphrey Bogart's famous

Casablanca

line: "Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine."

Her mind was vehemently chastising, "Bobby, what are you doing here?!"

Their thoughts were a whirlwind of family history in a desperate attempt to wrap their minds around how the hell they could meet face-to-face, for the first time in over a decade, like this.

When Bob was seven, Athena discovered her husband had a penis problem: he couldn't keep it out of college-age girls but he

could

keep it of her. When the philandering was discovered, the Italian-Cuban wife was devastated and angry. She literally threw her husband's personal items on their front lawn and filed for divorce. The public humiliation was too much for him. When it was time for the child custody trial, he used his political and financial connections, and nefarious ways to enact payback.