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K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N
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WARNING!
This text file contains sexually explicit
material. If you do not wish to read this
type of literature, or you are under age,
PLEASE DELETE THIS FILE NOW!!!!
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Couch Dance, by Rajah Dodger (rdodger@hotmail.com),
Copyright (c) 2007. All rights reserved, except that
electronic not-for-profit reproduction rights only are
explicitly granted with the stipulation that this
authorship and permission note must remain attached.
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Couch Dance
By Rajah Dodger (rajahdodger@gmail.com)
2003
***
When a man goes to a "dance partner" club, the action
isn't confined to the dance floor. (MF, prost, mast,
oral, public)
***
I walked into the topless bar and almost immediately
turned around and walked out. Too crowded, too noisy,
too smoky... it wasn't going to be worth it just for
$10 table dances. On the way back to my hotel a small
building caught my eye with the sign "Gentlemen's Dance
Partners". I figured I could spare five minutes to
check out the place.
When I went in there was a Latina hostess in an
enclosed foyer and a sign - $10 entry, $20 per hour to
the house for the ladies' time and a tip of at least
that much for the lady. The music from behind the
closed door sounded okay, so I handed her a ten and she
opened the door.
Inside on one side were a pool table and some card
tables, and a bar with football on the TV. A glitter
ball spun slowly over a small parquet dance floor and
several couches lined the walls. An open doorway led
into a back room. There were two couples slow-grinding
under the glitter ball, a couple of guys with a curvy
brunette playing pool, and three women on one of the
couches chatting.
I went over to the couch and my eyes lit on a redhead
in a well-filled tube top and short skirt. I introduced
myself as a first-timer there, and she agreed to help
me feel like one of the family. I held out my hand and
she pulled herself up out of the couch, tube top
jiggling pleasantly, her head coming just up to my
height.
We went to the foyer window and she stamped a time
card, then took my hand and led me through the open
doorway to the back area where there were small leather
couches - almost loveseats - with coffee tables and a
bit of dance floor near each. The light was dimmer
here, and we settled into one of the couches. We did
the usual who-are-you and what-do-you-do chatter until
the music changed to a danceable Billy Joel number.
On the dance floor she got a lot friendlier, melting
into my arms and resting her head against my shoulder.
When I casually slid my hand down her back past the
waistline, she pressed herself against me and traced
circles on my lower spine with her fingernails. By the
time the music changed, my hand was familiar with the
contours of her bottom, my head was filled with the
scent of her hair and my body was buzzing with warm
fuzzy feelings.
We settled into the couch and she leaned into me, my
arm wrapping naturally around her and settling
alongside what felt like a nicely full and resilient
breast. Her lips tickled the side of my neck and one of
her hands found its way along the inside of my leg. I
was enjoying the hell out of this but wondering just
how far we could go in what was basically a public
space.
The way the couches were arranged, I couldn't actually
see the people in them, just the tops of their heads.
Head, singular in one case, and I wondered where that
guy's dance partner was until the head leaned back and
I saw it to be a woman's face, eyes tightly closed and
mouth open in what had to be an expression of passion
fulfilled.
About that time my companion's hand made its way up to
my zipper, and I leaned back in the loveseat as she
moved her palm back and forth over my bulge. She moved
her lips to my ear and with an agonizing slowness
licked her way around it and into the center. In a
husky voice she mentioned that I seemed a little tense,
and she might be persuaded to help out with that.
"Persuaded?" My mind wasn't working terribly quickly
through the erotic feelings she was raising in me. I
squeezed her breast and let my hand make its way slowly
down her side to cup her bottom, my fingers exploring
those curves just as her fingernails outlined the
swollen contours of my shaft. "Not that kind of
persuasion, sweetie," she said, "I'm a working girl,
after all."
A light finally dawned in my head, but not so urgently
that I didn't take my sweet time sliding my hand over
her entire bottom on its way to my hip pocket where my
wallet was ensconced. Two minutes later, a pair of
Andrew Jacksons had changed allegiance and my hand was
nicely tucked under her skirt, discovering that she had
dispensed with underwear.
She deftly unfastened my belt and slid my zipper down,
then slipped her cool fingers into my briefs. It was
almost a shock to feel the contrast between them and
the heat of my cock. Without observable effort she
threaded my cock out into open air, and wrapped her
hand around it. Her thumb was rolling repeatedly over
the top, and my brain was being split into a rainbow
between that and the way my fingers felt embedded in
her own moist channel. I leaned back in the couch,
rocking my head from side to side as my lips moved
soundlessly.
She produced a handkerchief from somewhere, and the
next thing I was conscious of was spurting into her
cloth-covered hand, her other hand stroking my balls as
she urged me to "Be a good boy, give it all to Mamma".
I managed to hold my vocal response down to a soft
moan, and her hands moved until I had nothing left to
give.
I was impressed, to say the least. But I thought my
head would explode when the handkerchief disappeared
and she ducked her head down to my lap to give my cock
a thorough tongue-washing. The next thing I knew my
pants were zipped up and my dance partner was helping
me stand up on shaky legs.
We walked back to the foyer window, and she re-punched
her time card. Then she turned to me and gave me a
sizzling kiss while her hand played lightly between my
legs. When the kiss ended, she smiled at me and said,
"I hope you come back soon - you're a wonderful
'dancer'!" With that she turned and sashayed toward the
TV area.
The same Latina was on duty when I got to the exit
window, and she checked the time and quoted me a
number. I paid it, only slightly disturbed by how much
this brief afternoon dalliance had cost me. I was
remembering that other area in back, the one where only
the woman's head was visible. In my mind I was already
planning for my next visit.
END
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This story was written as an adult fantasy. The author
does not condone the described behavior in real life.
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Kristen's collection - Directory 49