From: rdragon@ix.netcom.com(***) Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories Subject: Role Reversal Date: 25 Oct 1996 20:50:07 GMT Role Reversals by Nicolas Restif de la Bretonne restif@tuna.uchicago.edu Winter in Montreal arrives with steel gray skies and wispy snow driven by icy nordic gusts. An invitation to lecture to a couple of universities in the metropole had proven too tempting to pass up: a week in one of my favorite cities with Margaret overcame my busy schedule and the rigors of the Canadian winter. The forbidding exterior of the city in the winter cloaks her French passions. Margaret too hides her sensuality. In her case, it is with the garments of public acceptability. Both are Catholic, diverting the male gaze by the display of religion and timidity. After a day of lecturing, Margaret and I dined in the old regime comfort and conviviality of the Auberge Saint-Gabriel, an establishment founded before the English conquest of New France. Amid the ancient stones and beams of the dining room, we enjoyed traditional Quebecois food on pewter plates. Our conversation, however, drifted to a less traditional theme. Margaret had often told me that she fantasized about sleeping with another woman, and had, in fact, become intimate with several, but never to the extent that she desired. As we finished dinner, I proposed that we visit a favorite graduate school haunt of mine. Located in the old quarter of the city near the cathedral, the Nouveau Monde Amoureux (New Amorous World) was founded at the end of the last century. A gentleman's club in the French tradition, it is by any definition, a erotic dance emporium that has stood the test of time by retaining its old world flavor: wood and fabric in place of steel and glass. The stages are surrounded by tables and over-stuffed chairs from a by-gone era, the lighting indirect and seductive. A dowager of an establishment, heavy with the memories of nearly a century, she had seen her best years. Still, the Amoureux retained a stylish flair rarely encountered in the States. Several concessions to modernity are found at the Amoureux. Where it had originally been a cabaret, tastes of local patrons and American visitors had liberalized the entertainment considerably. Quebecois girls are dark haired and brown eyed with the tell- tale ruddy skin of their southern France origins. Teasing their audience with coquettish smiles and thin, small breasted figures, the women danced in pairs, playing off each other to further their seduction of the men in attendance. An environment that would, I expected, serve to seduce Margaret to fulfill her particular desires. * * * Mark is an odd man. Not strange but enigmatic; an historian and writer with consuming intellectual sexuality. My best description to my girlfriends is that he is less a fantasy than a facilitator of fantasies. He loves to challenging my self-image, encouraging expression of sentiments that I can't share with my husband. All too often surprising me by realizing what I had only imagined. Sitting with him in the club removed any doubt of my lust. The sultry movements of the dancers washed over me like a tide, rocking my hips in sympathy. I fantasized being one of these women, parading myself, my body, my sexuality so publicly. Even more provocatively, I couldn't really tell if the women on stage were dancing for the largely male audience, or for each other. The very notion of dancing so provocatively with another woman sent flashes of heat racing up and down the length of my body. Mark had ordered drinks and settled into his chair, a self-satisfied grin flashing on his face. Settling into my chair was impossible, for I was far too enticed by the vision on the stage to relax. My face flushed, with excitement and embarrassment when I realized that I was the only woman in the club who did not work there. Watching the dancers, I felt that they were only mildly aware of the men, for they both started looking at me inviting eyes. Is this my own agitated imagination or are they dancing for me? I had told him that I had the fantasy of sleeping with another woman, but he had placed me in a situation where I had little control over the situation. * * * Margaret was clearly unsettled by the Amoureux. The women on stage took an interest in her tall, lean body and lusty eyes, looking at her far more frequently than at the rest of the audience. The three danced in rapt attention. The Jamaican woman on stage was particularly intrigued, moving to the part of the stage closest to our table, removing the last scraps of her outfit, revealing her long legs and gorgeous ass. Margaret had not said anything, completely absorbed in the languid command performance taking place for her. At the end of their number, Margaret mumbled that she had to take refuge in the ladies room for a while. Normally precise and controlled, she groped for her purse, proceeding to drop it twice on her way. While she was gone, I attracted the Jamaican woman's attention. Had she, I inquired, danced for a woman before. No, never for a female client, but she would be very happy to dance for my friend. I pulled a bill from my shirt, which was duly placed under her G-string. * * * I should have known something was up. I can't leave Mark alone too long, because he is always getting us into trouble. And I had been in the ladies room too long, caressing my swollen button and aching pussy. The dancers had thrilled me so much that I was not sure if I could bear to continue to watch. But I had to return, since he was, as far as I could tell, quite comfortably installed in his chair. As soon as I had returned, however, the black woman came over to me, asking me if I wanted her to dance for me right here. Through the fog, I hear her tell me her name was Shelly and that she had always wanted to dance for another woman, to thrill a woman. Dancing for men was predictable, routine. A woman, however, could be much more sensuous and less demanding for a finale. Seduction is a woman's nature, and only another woman could truly appreciate it. With that, she danced for me at our table. The sight of one woman dancing for another aroused every man in the club. All eyes were riveted to this unexpected scene. Her dance was inviting, for she did not perform as she had on stage. Rather, she began by caressing herself, slowly; fondling her nipples, running her nails along the muscles of her thighs. Her hips gyrated slowly, and she looked through my eyes, locked onto a point somewhere in the middle of my brain. As she moved closer, she draped her long, black hair on my face and shoulders, moving closer than she ever had for her male clients. I felt her hot breath on my face and neck, moving sensually and intimately. Her head was almost touching mine, her tongue brushing her lips, revealing its pink velvety softness from time to time. Suddenly, I realized I was sliding my tongue against my teeth, slowly yet impatiently. She was not touching me, yet I could sense her presence even through my closed eyes. My lips were yearning for her tongue. Between my spread legs I felt the fullness of my erect clit. All I needed was her fingers touching my swollen red flesh and I could burst into powerful orgasm. Her lips hovered over mine, privately daring me to respond publicly. To tell all three of us, as well as everyone at the club, that she and I wanted to love each other. The play of her lips and defiant look in her eyes pulled our mouths together. Ever so lightly, we violated the distance of our roles, playing our fluttering tongues across each others lips. Our tongues met, not forcefully or rapidly. Gently. The tips touched, parted and touched again. My pussy was wet, the whole chair moist with our passion. My mood was sensuous, slow; building pleasure and desire to the point of pain; that delicious sharp ache of lust warmed my torso. Her arms dropped to my thighs, pinning me to the chair. I had signaled my desire to her. I leaned back, parted my legs more and put my arms around her neck, pulling her into the software chair with me. I started licking her face, mouth, nose, eyelids, cheeks, temples. Her eyes closed, but I knew that she memorized the shivering sensation of my tongue fluttering across her face. I lowered one of my hands, running the tips of my fingers across her neck, chest, stomach, ending at her thighs, omitting that most sensitive part. She squinted her eyes and began rocking. We began kissing, fully and decisively, involving our eager tongues, pressing them together from time to time. Shelly opened her legs, and sat astride me. We were kissing and rocking simultaneously. My pussy was so swollen that I could feel its bulk even with my legs apart. As she rubbed her G-string along my thigh, I could feel her erection and heat. I caressed her body, especially her large firm breasts, promising myself to lick them in detail, later. I was still not touching her crotch, knowing that soon she would become frantic with the obsession of having something touch her to relieve the itch of desire, to satisfy the need of fulfillment. My hand stroked her inner thigh, higher and higher, sliding back down. She looked at me with anger, and put more force into our kisses. I wanted to tease this wanton women; to drive her to the same ferocious need as me. Our faces were covered with saliva as we continued kissing passionately. I heard her guttural moans. She was begging me to fuck her with my finger. Not yet, I thought, being as desperate as she. * * * The scene at our table had, as might be expected, caused quite a stir among the clients and dancers at the old Amoureux. While it was forbidden for male clients to touch the employees, a rule enforced by a pair of particularly large bouncers, nobody was quite certain about how to react to this indescribably provocative show. The sexual distance between client and employee, implicit at all erotic clubs, dissolved in the publicly displayed passion of these two women. The fantasy of the stage had descended to the tables, where the dancer had been transformed from an object of desire to a desiring woman. This transformation had silenced the patrons of the club, halted the movements of the dancers, and arrested the evening in a paroxysm of deep sexuality. Only the sultry music accompanying the now motionless dancers on stage reminded all onlookers that we had not left the club. Margaret and Shelly chatted for a while before the dancer composed herself, returning to work. Try as I might, I could not hear a word of their conversation, which left me both frustrated and intrigued. She disappeared into the back rooms, whispering to the dancer with whom she had shared the stage. Margaret was flushed and animated, talking excitedly about what had transpired in spite of the long, unnerving glances of the patrons. My discomfort with all of this must've shown, as she asked me if I was all right. I wondered if we shouldn't leave since we were creating a bit of a disturbance. In some ways, I appreciated the well defined, if now completely shattered, order of the Amoureux. The situation had the potential of spinning out of control, a fact which intimidated and thrilled me at the same time. I was also completed turned-on and longed to feel her extraordinarily passionate body. Margaret urged me to stay, to allow her to continue enjoying the evening. She would leave with me, if I so desired, partly to please me and partly because she was not sure she could stay in the club without me. Before the discussion proceeded much further, a waitress appeared at our table. The decision was made for me, as Shelly had ordered Margaret and I our favorite drinks, double Tequila's and beer. I needed the shot, which I downed in a single gulp, to compose myself with this sudden reversal of roles. The dancer was not done with Margaret, and had let us both know it. Any question of leaving now, with Margaret, was moot, for she was far too intrigued to be dragged away. I was, in a very real sense, captive of the over-turned roles which I had begun subverting. Another shot and two cigarettes went a long way to settling my apprehensions. The club returned to a semblance of its normal order. Patrons, assuming that the show was over, returned to their glasses and the dancers. Margaret continued talking, speculating about what she should do and what the rest of the evening would bring. She we invite her to our hotel when the club closed? Sometime later, Shelly appeared on stage, alone. At that instant, I knew precisely what Shelly had planned. * * * I smiled at her, nodded my head, letting her know that I knew what she wanted. Our conspiracy at a glance complete, we each began to fulfill our appointed tasks. I had finished a couple of drinks, feeling relaxed and passionate, telling Mark that I couldn't wait to see Shelly and Chantal, her partner in the last set, dance again. Finally, she appeared on stage. Alone. Their music started, and she began to move seductively directly in front of us. As I looked around the club for Chantal, the two men at the table next to ours laughed and said something in French. Moments later, a man behind us also spoke, but I couldn't understand. Turning to Mark, I wanted to know what they were saying. "They want you to dance." Shelly, still alone, beckoned to me. Mark smiled, telling me that I couldn't disappoint. Disappoint who? Shelly, him, the men, myself? My confusion complete, my mind raced: had they planned this? Who was doing this? I couldn't move, complain, object. Frozen more solidly than standing in the Canadian winds, I was completely... The crash of emotions from rage to passion rocked me. She descended, pulled my hand. Trying to resist, I looked to Mark for help. He smiled and said, "Go." Bastard. "Go." And with that, Shelly dragged her taught body from the chair. * * * Shelly led Margaret up the stairs to the stage, directing her to sit on the riser at the center, legs spread supporting her weight with her arms. Waiting, frozen in shock. The contrast between the our performers, volunteer and professional, could hardly have been more complete. Margaret was wearing a brown, ankle length, peasant patch work skirt, a large black belt pitching her waist, calf high black, leather boots, and a black, woolen turtle neck sweater. Shelly's black skin glistened against her white, open chemise, her long legs and rounded buttocks being hidden only by a pearl G-string and garter. Turning her back to the aroused audience, Shelly began, once again, to dance for Margaret, playing her nails up and down her chest, stomach and pubis. Still rigid, Margaret began to show signs of relaxing, rolling her hips slightly in rhythm with her black seductress. The dancer moved toward Margaret, as eager as anyone in the room, to remove her clothes, to expose her lean, naked form to the waiting public. The stage had captured everyone's rapt attention. Shelly slid her partner's belt from her body, wrapping her own waist in it. Tugging slightly at the sweater, she needed Margaret's help to pull it over her head. In a single fluid movement, the dancer removed her garter, sliding it teasingly, slowly up Margaret's long leg, taking time to run her nails along her victim's thighs. Pushing her partner down on the riser, Shelly sat astride Margaret, playing her large, pendulous breasts across the white woman's stomach, small, firm breasts, and mouth, in a slow riding motion. The dancer's engorged nipples making the only contact between their bodies. Margaret began to fight back, or should I say love back, for she thrust her chest up, into Shelly's, responding to her seducer's motions. Their motions became more precise, massaging their breasts and nipples together. * * * Her mouth was open, her face flushed, as she rode her nipples along my chest. I felt the firmness of her nipples and the smooth, silken perfection of her breasts, on my body, my breasts, my lips. All the while, she whispered encouragement to me, daring me to dance for her, with her, for our public. Only women can fathom the delicacy of woman's sex, the pleasure of moving together. We'll move to please ourselves and make the men in this joint crazy. Her words and passion left me incapable of defiance. I kissed her, letting her know that we would go all the way. She pulled me up, unbuttoning my skirt which fell away as I rose. As I turned to reveal myself to the audience, Shelly moved behind me, holding my waist and began moving her body against mine in time to the music. My teacher's body dominated mine, moving my hesitant form to her rhythms, as I relinquished control to her lust. Her hands rose to my hardened nipples, caressing and pinching them, in full view of the audience. I raised my arms, moving as an extension of her body, feeling her breasts pressed against my back and her mound on my rear. Already we were sweating from the heat of the lights and the passion of our encounter. As we moved, her hands dropped to my panties. She pulled them up firmly, masturbating my with my own underwear, stroking my clit and pussy with my last bit of clothing. Feeling my first convulsive twitch of oncoming orgasm, she dropped to her knees in front of me pulling my panties down. Running her lips and tongue up my legs, around the curls covering my mound, she drove me crazy with need. To feel her tongue on my aching pussy. As I desperately tried to maneuver my clit and pussy to use her tongue, she would withdraw it just far enough to force me to move further. She played me, moving my lust driven body to chase her mouth, from side to side and up and down. Making me dance to satisfy my own aching desire. This delicious, public torture stopped only when I tried to take hold of her head. Rather than let me take control, she rose, slid behind me and began caressing my body with her nails. Working her way slowing to my clit. We danced, our bodies locked in rising lust. Her hand moved to the swollen enormity of my clit, playing it expertly. The exaggerated motion of our bodies and firmness of her fingers encompassing that most sensitive spot on my body was too much to resist, for she was going to bring me for her own entertainment and the pleasure of our audience. The tremors of onrushing orgasm filled me completely. Pushing my clit more firmly on to her fingers, I felt as if my entire body would melt around her arms and hands. She held me as my hips began to thrash around her fingers, desperately as I tried to move her hand away from my sensitized clit to my aching pussy. Depriving me of that final satisfaction, she held my wildly thrashing form, raising me to new heights of tension. I quaked and moaned as I began begging her to finish me off, to release that final satisfaction. * * * We were all transfixed by the painfully slow process of Margaret's orgasm. Desperate for release, she was being played by a woman who kept her on the edge for what seemed to be an eternity. Her eyes opened, revealing her frantic, total loss of control. Finally, Shelly rewarded her victim. With a loud, guttural scream, Margaret came with such force that the two women nearly fell over. The club vibrated with her resounding orgasm, which echoed again and again through her body and against the stone walls. * * * He was watching... every move, every motion. His eyes were fixed on two women caressing each other. Our naked bodies... beautiful and slick with the sweat of desire. When we first arrived at our hotel, everything was like a play. I felt as if it was a theater and we were main actors, playing for an audience of one. He sat across from the bed, calmly, distractedly sipping a drink, refusing to join us. "It's impolite to interfere and rush things," he said when Shelly and I invited him. The passion of our encounter soon overwhelmed any awareness of his presence. She touched and bit my skin, all over, delicately and desperately. I knew those were woman's caresses and soft bites. She was soft and crisp and tasted like a ripe mango. I loved her breasts and her enormous nipples. I exulted in fondling, licking, and squeezing them. I pressed my chest to hers, feeling the bulk and firmness of her breasts. It drove me wild to feel a body so alien and yet so similar to mine. Suddenly I realized that I had the chance, for the first time, to kiss, touch, to go down on a woman. It was sweet, very sweet. As my tongue was sliding down her firm abdomen, pubis, inner thighs and finally her soft wet pussy, I could feel the tension, awareness, and immense pleasure. Mine and hers. I immersed my tongue in her vagina, sliding it up and down. I licked her labia, sucked on her clitoris. I could hear her soft moaning. I could feel her body, shivering in oncoming orgasm. I could not, in all honesty, resist bringing her to orgasm again and again, exercising the power of my tongue on her desperate flesh. The combination of power and supple sexuality was overflowing my mind. I wanted her! I wanted to make love to this creature! He was watching... I thank him for that.