("`-''-/").___..--''"`-._
`6_ 6 ) `-. ( ).`-.__.`)
(_Y_.)' ._ ) `._ `. ``-..-'
_..`--'_..-_/ /--'_.' ,'
(((' (((-((('' ((((
K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N
_________________________________________
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!!!!
_________________________________________
Scroll down to view text
--------------------------------------------------------
This work is copyrighted to the author © 2010. Please
don't remove the author information or make any changes
to this story. All rights reserved. Thank you for your
consideration.
--------------------------------------------------------
The Dancer
by Oscar (oscarpaco@aol.com)
***
A pretty woman has an unnatural talent for dance and
decides to use her talent to please men. (MF, exh, oral)
***
She was an exquisite dancer in every way: lithe where
the others were stiff, she was capable of stretching her
body into fluid shapes that never failed to surprise a
captive audience; elegant where the other girls were
cheesy or slutty.
She made simple pirouettes seem like exotic fruits;
focused where the others were haphazard and arbitrary,
she made use of every muscle in her body; long and
subtle, she capitalized effectively and economically on
the extension of her legs and arms; traditionally
beautiful where the others were made-up and painted and
false.
She moved inside her body with respect and awe,
surprising even herself some nights; and classic where
the other girls were sleazy, she never relied on thrusts
and shakes when gesture and suggestion promised more
than exposed. Naturally rhythmic, her dances unfolded
like mini-epics, simultaneously complex and straight
forward, compact and complete in ways that only the
religious understand.
Because she was naturally good at her job, she suffered
resentment and jealousy from the other dancers: she made
more tips, she gathered more clientele, she turned down
more invitations for private shows than the others
combined could hope to brag about.
Unlike her colleagues, Stephanie danced for the near
religious artistic rush, not expressly for the money,
though of course she never complained about the latter.
In high school, she had been on the gymnastics team, on
the diving team, and had even tried out her Freshman
year for the drama club, knowing ahead of time that they
did at least two musicals every year; but where she
excelled in the former, she simply did not fit in with
the largely superficial gregariousness the drama club
demanded. In college.
She gave brief thought to being a dance major, and
though she did enjoy the few classes she took, Stephanie
discovered sadly that modern dance, though often bold
and challenging, did not offer the release she needed –
a release which she scarcely understood then but which
with time she began to crave more and more, until, by
the time she was "legal," it had become a full blown
hunger, an emptiness that needed fulfillment, not quick
fixes.
It was by circumstance alone that her first experience
with exotic dancing came about. She and Gina had been
carousing for a few hours with several guys one Friday
night, hopping from one bar to another, clubbing in that
time tested ritual of American youth, when Armando
suggested that they all go to the Twilight Club.
Although they were not a true couple by technical
standards.
Stephanie and Armando had nonetheless pushed friendly
flirting to outrageous heights, exchanging blue
language, smoldering gazes and the occasional grope in
public – enough to make others assume they had
consummated something, even though they took great pains
to point out that they were not an item.
That Friday night, in fact, quite inebriated and
friendly, Armando had twice squeezed Stephanie’s breast
in front of the others, making everyone present ooh and
ah, their jokes rolling out freely. But Gina had heard
stories about the Twilight Club, she knew what kind of
place it was, and she wasn’t about to be dragged out to
the edge of town to watch half-naked girls bump and
grind for a roomful of drunken men with hard-ons.
Just tipsy enough, just curious and drunk enough,
Stephanie expressed interest, even went so far as to say
she wanted to see for herself what "those kinds of
places" were all about, why men seemed to be so fond of
them. Gina tried to talk her friend out of it, even
pleaded with her not to go, arguing that she didn’t know
what she was getting herself into, but Stephanie had
made up her mind and would not hear the protests. In the
end, Gina bowed out, and Stephanie found herself walking
into the Twilight Club accompanied by four very drunk
and very excited men, Armando in her arm.
There was nothing special about the Twilight club; if
anything, it embraced every stereotype of a sleazy strip
club, right down to the throbbing music, the dark and
dangerous atmosphere, and the general feel of dirtiness
that pervaded the place. Still, something heavy and
urgent clicked in her that first night, and by the third
vodka and tonic, as she watched the seventh or eighth
topless dancer grinding her pelvis into the center poll
and pulling on her impossibly long nipples.
Stephanie felt what could only be described as her first
visual orgasm. Her eyes glazed over, her lids fell
heavily, she stretched her neck slightly, and let out a
low, hardly audible whimper, a gesture that would not
have been noticed at all if Armando had not had his arm
around her and a hand on her thigh, just above the knee.
He leaned over and said into her ear, "What’s wrong?"
Stephanie threw her eyes open and nearly gasped, for
during the time she had had her eyes closed, the
Twilight Club had somehow magically transformed itself
into a kind of temple – a foreboding erotic holy place
where men and women alike came to worship the female
body, that representation of all mysteries, all
uncertainties. Of course, the Twilight Club remained
exactly what it was: a dark, smoky strip joint; but, for
Stephanie, something had changed for good, something
irrepressible.
On the drive home, Stephanie sat between Armando and
Gregory in the back seat. They were all drunk now,
especially the driver, and the drive back to campus
became a long, harrowing affair. Save for Armando, who
spoke only when he was directly addressed and then only
responded in monosyllables, the guys were all chatter,
talking in that incessantly juvenile fashion only young
men can perfect.
Once, after the car swerved and nearly drove headlong
into a ditch, Stephanie grabbed hold of Armando’s hand
and placed it directly over her crotch, an action that
carried so much improvisational force and come-what-may
playfulness that sparks of erotic energy flew freely
between the two of them.
Stephanie knew she was wet and suspected that, even
through her jeans, Armando could tell how excited she
was. The car grew strangely quiet then, as if they all
sensed something frightening and sticky were taking
place. Not once over the next fifteen minutes did
Armando make a move to pull his had away from her
crotch.
Amazingly, they made it back alive. Without needing any
further invitation, Armando announced to the others that
he was walking Stephanie home and that he would see them
tomorrow. Stephanie offered no resistance, and the two
walked across the parking lot together, holding on to
one another for dear life.
Back at Stephanie’s apartment, Armando sat on the bed,
his head and body reeling from the curious mixture of
excitement, drunkenness and charged hormones. He did not
know what to expect, and Stephanie hadn’t said a word in
well over an hour. She retrieved a couple of beers from
the fridge and walked back into the bedroom with the
most serious look on her face that Armando had ever
witnessed: clearly, she had a plan. Armando sat back
against the wall.
Putting on a jazz CD, Stephanie began a dance that was
amazing both for its boldness and its startling grace:
not five minutes ago, she had stumbled as she walked,
her legs slurred, but now she moved with the elegant
composure of a ballerina. She did not strip as much as
she transformed from a beautiful, normal coed into an
erotic icon of everything sexual in the universe.
Quite unlike the dancers they had watched earlier,
Stephanie intensified her dance once her clothes were
removed, stating clearly with her body that the nudity
was not an end in itself but an introduction to deeper
meanings. She did thrust, she did not rock her pelvis,
she did not bump her hips against the air, and she did
not rely on the thousands of other typical exotic dancer
tricks: instead, she dramatically stripped herself of
all inhibitions, one by one.
During the silences between songs on the CD, she paused
mid-air, frozen like a still life, a statue of feminine
nubility, regardless of the pose she struck. Once, she
stood for a full minute with her left leg spread a full
two feet above the ground, and Armando could see no
evidence of twitching or muscle strain.
Her dance lasted for thirty minutes, and by the end her
body was enveloped in a sheen of sweat, glistening under
the dim lights of the room. Initially, Armando found it
impossible to look her straight in the eye, and when
Stephanie gaze straight into him, he simply turned away,
afraid perhaps of betraying his less than noble
thoughts; yet, when Stephanie did not ease up on him and
in fact made arrows out of her stares into his eyes.
Armando at last reciprocated, tossing off caution and
inhibition alike, letting her know the effect this was
having on him. The experience was intensely erotic,
indescribably sexual, and half way through, Armando
could take the tension no further: he unzipped his
pants, pushed them off, and began stroking his penis,
staring directly into her eyes as he did so. Stephanie
did not lose a beat; if anything, she flashed at the new
development.
She liked what she saw, too. Armando’s cock was
exquisitely hard, perfectly symmetrical and beautiful,
everything she had hoped, and she was overjoyed to be
the cause of his excitement. During the last song,
Stephanie worked her body into a tense muscular marvel,
increasing her physical exertion until she felt she
might pass out from the intensity of her dancing.
During this last round of exercise, Armando increased
his own dance, working himself into a furious tension.
Finally, Stephanie stepped into his body so that her sex
hovered directly in front of him, so that he could
breathe in her swampy aroma, so that he could touch her
if he chose.
With a loud grunt, Armando climaxed powerfully, letting
loose an uncontrollable series of paroxysms: his release
copious, lengthy and violent. Sperm landed against her
sex, her thighs, his chest, his hand and balls.
For finale, Stephanie lowered herself to him and licked
his cum from his body, breathing hungrily as she did so,
spending a good few minutes on his balls and his shaft.
And when she was finished, she collapsed on the floor in
front of him, burying her face in his lap, her body limp
and exhausted, and the both of them passed out.
It was the animal purity of that maiden dance, the
excruciating precision, the mysterious accuracy in her
movements that helped Stephanie to make the decision:
she was a dancer now, and the rest of her life would be
religiously devoted to study.
She desired to free the genius inside of her, to learn
not only the craft but the art form total, the spiritual
and intellectual aspects of the dance that unleashed the
secret desires and the terminal needs of what it means
to be a sexual human being.
And if she often found her business to be sleazy,
occasionally degrading and periodically against the laws
in some states, she always reminded herself that there
was the dance first and foremost: inside that zone, she
could be entirely free.
The End
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
It's okay to *READ* stories about unprotected sex with
others outside a monogamous relationship. But it isn't
okay to *HAVE* unprotected sex with people other than
a trusted partner. 4-million people around the world
contract HIV every year. You only have one body per
lifetime, so take good care of it!
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Kristen's collection - Directory 69