From: rdragon@ix.netcom.com(***)
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
Subject: Hot Spots by J. Boswell (FM+, slut)
Date: 3 Oct 1996 23:12:38 GMT

			  A Leopard's Spots
				  by
			      J. Boswell

DO YOU FEEL LIKE TALKING TO ME ABOUT IT, SANDY?

	Look. I'm no angel, okay? Bobby knew he wasn't marrying a nun,
but he married me, anyway. And I never once fooled around on him, or
even flirted very much with anyone else, after we got married.

	I'm not proud of the way I was making a living when we met,
but he has no idea how hard it was, and there isn't anything I can do,
now, to change any of that, anyway.

CHANGE WHAT?

	The way I lived.

	I was still in high school when things got so bad at home, I
had to split. Mom was always pickled in her cheap wine and dad - dear
old dad - when he wasn't slapping me around, he was giving me goo-goo
eyes and coming into my bedroom at night to grab some cheap feels of
my `new equipment'.

	After he fell asleep one night, I grabbed his wallet and mom's
`secret' grocery money, hitchhiked to Bangor and hopped on a bus,
buying a one way ticket for as far away as I could get - that happened
to be downtown Baltimore.

	I didn't expect the folks to come looking for me, and they
didn't. I was on my own. I was 17 (yeah, a young, innocent 17).

	I had about fifty dollars and a suitcase full of fairly decent
clothes. I had seen enough `Geraldos' and `Oprahs' about street kids
to know I didn't want to start hanging out like that.

	Living in a filthy, rat- and bug-infested dump was worse than
what I left.

SO, WHAT DID YOU DO?

	I worked. I couldn't get a decent job, of course, because I
didn't have my diploma and I had no experience at anything. I worked
for `Mom and Pop' type businesses because they'd pay me under the
table and I didn't have to fill out a lot of forms. I lived in dumpy,
but fairly clean, rooms and kept pretty much to myself. Always having
someplace safe to sleep at night was my goal.

	It wasn't like the movies. I never worked for any really nice
people. Never for a woman who was like some `TV mom' who wanted to
take me into their home and take care of me. Just hard working people
who wanted me to work hard, too.

	The problem was always sex.

SEX? WHAT DO YOU MEAN?

	Well, you see how I look, right?

YES. OF COURSE.

	Well, either the guy running the place (and one time it was
the woman) or a customer would get to the point where they couldn't
keep their hands off me. It never failed to happen.

	I'd get my boobs grabbed in the back room or told I had to
fuck him to get my pay and I'd split.

	See, I was innocent, but not stupid. I knew what they wanted
and being forced into something like that would wreck this sense of
security I had built up for myself. And my security was all that I
had. I wasn't a virgin - I had had a boyfriend in tenth grade - but
this wasn't the same.

	Does any of this make sense to you?

SURE. I UNDERSTAND WHAT YOU'RE SAYING, SANDY. YOU HAD SET UP BOUNDARY
LINES AROUND YOURSELF, AND THE SEXUAL HARASSMENT CROSSED THOSE LINES.

	Exactly!

	Anyway, that's when I'd split. Sometimes getting my last
paycheck, sometimes not.

	So, by now, I just had my 18th birthday and I'm out of work,
again. And each time it seems to get harder and harder to find that
next job.

	Well, I'm in my favorite Dunkin' Donuts, crying in my coffee,
when one of the other regulars sits down next to me.

	This guy, Mr. Harper, hung there, too, and was always polite
but not quite friendly, keeping his distance. I could deal with that.
He wasn't like the sleaziods always coming over and drooling down my
neck.

	He asks what's wrong and I tell him. I didn't have any
friends, and after almost a year on my own, it felt nice to have
somebody to talk to.

	We talked and talked and he offered to buy me lunch down at
HarborPlace. It was a beautiful day and the food was great and Mr.
Harper was so concerned about my welfare. His timing couldn't have
been better.

FOR WHAT?

	His proposition.

HE PROPOSITIONED YOU?

	No, that's just it, HE didn't. At least, not for what you
think.

	Here's this older guy, who looks like he could be a college
professor or something, and he's being nice to me - without any hint
of coming on to me. And I'm beginning to feel better. I still feel
safe and now I'm actually laughing at some of the funny things he's
saying.

	We spent the day at the harbor, and he even takes me on a boat
ride. Over dinner, in a `Little Italy' restaurant with candles on the
tables, he asks me where I'm staying.

	Immediately, my defenses come up. Why's he want to know?

	He tells me he knows a place out in the county. He said it's
clean and cheap and he knows the owner who would keep an eye out for
my safety.

	I ask him why I'd want to move out of the city and he smiles
and says that he might have a good-paying job for me, if I want it.

	Here comes the proposition.

	He tells me a friend of his owns a couple of clubs, two on
"The Block" and two more in the county. He says if I would dance (`AND
ONLY DANCE, SANDY,' he says), I could soon make enough money to really
live on my own.

	I tell him no, but he's not done his sales pitch, yet. He says
with that kind of money, I could get a real apartment, like the young
singles have, get a car, maybe even get my diploma and go to college.
He told me I could get a real life - something I wanted very much.

	I tell him I'm only 18 and he says `no problem.' He keeps
talking and tells me a lot of college girls are dancers, earning their
tuition, and leaving as soon as they graduate; and how other girls
make enough money to start their own business from dancing.

	Talk, talk, talk. He talked my ear off.

SO, WHAT HAPPENED?

	I got the job.

	That night, we drove out to the club and met the manager.

	He didn't even make me undress. He told me what hours I'd have
to work and I'd have to stay out of the booze and drugs (no problem
for me, at that time). When he told me what I'd be making a week, I
couldn't believe it. It sounded like so much money to me. Enough money
to make me think I could do exactly what Mr. Harper said I could do -
work there a short time and quit into the real world.

	The next day, Mr. Harper helped me move into a decent studio-
apartment-type room in a motel about a hundred feet up the road from
the club. He also took my picture and made me a driver's license,
social security card, and new birth certificate that said I was
`Sandra Beech' (sandy beach - get it?) and that I was just over 21
years old.

	I started dancing topless that night.

YOU STARTED A CAREER.

	Very funny.

BECOMING A NUDE DANCER WAS THAT EASY FOR YOU, SANDY?

	Well, it may seem that easy to you, but you weren't living the
life I was, then. I was alone and poor and scared and nervous and
embarrassed, but I was also young and had been convinced by a master
salesman. I was so excited about making money, how I made it was
secondary in my mind. Besides, I knew what I looked like and thought I
might as well make some money out of showing them what they all wanted
to see, anyway.

	But, it didn't take me long to realize that it wasn't all
hearts and flowers the way it had been describe to me.

AND YOU WERE SURPRISED?

	Yes, I guess I was.

	Most of the other girls were on booze or coke or speed and all
their money went that way. As a matter of fact, they couldn't make
enough money dancing. But extra money was easy to make in the club -
you just let the guys take you into the back room, or out to their
pickup truck, or up the road to the motel and buy whatever they could
afford - a hand-job, or blow-job, or a fuck. You gave a little piece
of the profit to the club, and the rest was yours.

HOOKING. DID YOU HOOK, SANDY?

	Not right away.

	Of course, I told myself that I would never hook like that;
that I didn't have any addictions like the other girls.

	But I did.

	Here I am, this young, pretty girl, down from the backwoods of
Maine and all of a sudden, I have money. More money than I ever had in
my life. It wasn't long before I had a closet full of new clothes. And
then a car - a hot, new Mustang convertible. Then I could afford a new
apartment, which meant I needed furniture and a TV and a stereo...

	I was addicted to shopping, and within months I was borrowing
against my next week's paycheck. Nobody had ever taught me how to
handle money and I was still a kid.

	Finally, the manager refused to advance me any more money.

	He said if I didn't stop spending, there was only one way of
keeping up with my bills.

	I knew what he meant. I also knew that I was the most popular
girl in the place. I was young, pretty, had a great body with big
tits...

THAT'S A FACT!

	Oh, hush!

	I also wasn't a burn-out like most of the other girls.

	Anyway, being very practical about the whole thing, I asked
the other girls what they charged and doubled it. From that first
weekend on, I had no trouble filling my `dance card' for the back
room.

	My biggest surprise was that it wasn't sex for me - it was
business.

DID YOU GET OUT OF DEBT?

	Did I!

	I was determined never to get in money problems again. I
worked five nights a week, dancing for my salary and earning my bonus
in the back room. I didn't turn anyone away and I didn't give
discounts.

	I developed a right arm like Arnold Swartzenegger from all the
hand-jobs I gave and I really could suck a golf ball through a garden
hose. Tying knots in cherry stems was kid's stuff!

	It was true piecework...

GROAN!

	Stop it! You know what I mean. Now let me talk!

	Move'em in and move'em out. High volume, low overhead.

	That's how I worked. Even my pussy developed very special
talents.

DIDN'T YOU WORRY ABOUT CATCHING SOMETHING?

	No, not really. I was 18 - 19 years old and feeling immortal.
I got the crabs a couple of times, but that was it.

	If they looked scrungy, I just whipped a rubber on them.

	The important part for me was that, soon, I paid everyone off,
and had too much money to bank. I started filling a safe deposit box
with hundred dollar bills.

	Anyway, that's who I was. I didn't make any secrets about it.

	One night, while I'm dancing, a bunch of guys come in - semi-
regulars. They stopped in about once every two weeks or so.

	Definitely Prep school material - all cotton and Docksides.

	Probably college guys. They were always well behaved and I had
been in the back room with all of them, at one time or another.

	They were even good tippers.

	So... anyway...

	That night, I'm dancing and they come in. Only they have a new
guy with them. He's shy and blushes a lot as I play up to him and
jiggle my boobs and wiggle my ass in his face. Everybody else is going
crazy, but this guy keeps his hands to himself, except when he slips a
fifty into my garter.

	His friends are razzing him and when my set ends, I sit with
his crowd. They want the new kid, Bobby, to take me in the back room,
but he smiles at me and says, `I'd rather take you out to dinner.'

	He's cute and nice and his friends are giving him such a hard
time, I feel sorry for him and want to cut him a break. I tell him to
pick me up in front of the club the next night and we'll go out to
dinner.

AND THE REST IS HISTORY?

	You laugh, but it was almost that simple.

	He was a really nice guy. He came from a large, rich family
that lives out in `The Valley' and he was always the `Black Sheep'
because he didn't toe daddy's line. The final offense was when he
enlisted in the Navy instead of going to college. He was ready to get
out when I met him, and he was scared and lonely about what was to
come. Cut out of the family's business, he was looking for work and
was determined to make it on his own. He reminded me of me when I
showed up in Baltimore.

	He got my sympathy. He never came to the club, again, but we
dated on my nights off. We didn't have sex for months after we met,
and when we did, it was quiet and sweet and tender.

	I had been on my own for over three years, and dancing for
over two, and I was tired. When he asked me to marry him, I accepted.

HOW DID BOBBY'S FAMILY TAKE IT?

	Well, there wasn't much to take. The day after I quit dancing,
we were married in the Court House and only Matt, Bobby's younger
brother, came. We had to borrow a secretary from down the hall to be
our other witness.

	We were pretty sure they knew all about me. Bobby's old high
school friends knew, of course, and we just assumed the word got back
to Bobby's parents. He was probably embarrassed by that, but we didn't
see them very often, anyway.

	We got a new apartment and Bobby found a pretty good job
because of his Navy training. I studied and got my GED, took courses
at Essex community college, transferred to Towson State University and
got my A.A. - all in just three years.

	I was 23 when I was hired as an administrative assistant in
the county planning office.

PRETTY IMPRESSIVE, SANDY. DID BOBBY EVER GET TO SEE HIS FAMILY? WERE
YOU INVITED FOR HOLIDAYS AND CELEBRATIONS?

	Invited? No. Matt sometimes stopped by, but for years, we only
saw his family at wakes and funerals.

	His dad is a very cold guy. No hugs, just handshakes.

	Bobby said he was always like that - always on this super-
macho power and control trip. And his mom! The biggest snob in the
world. She really looked down her nose at me. I think it really
bothered her that I got my education and didn't talk and act and dress
like a hillbilly or a hooker. And, other than Matt, Bobby's brothers
(and their wives) were all the same as his parents - stuck-up snobs.

	It was a shame. I think Bobby was too nice a person for their
family and he made them uncomfortable. I was just the easy excuse why
they shunned him. It was sad to watch. All Bobby wanted was to be
accepted. He would have done anything for them.

	He was like a little puppy around his father.

	But they could never forgive him. They were too proud. All
Bobby's past sins were forgotten when he married me. I was the focus
of all of their hatred. I guess I can understand, to some degree. I
probably wouldn't be too happy if my son married a whore. But, I
wasn't a whore any more. I didn't do those kinds of things any more -
I was respectable, or, at least, I thought I was. But it didn't matter
to them. They would have rather Bobby married some little squeaky-
clean little Yuppie girl - some girl who probably fucked the football
team in her Ivy League college just to get into her sorority!

	See what just thinking about it does to me?

I SEE.

DOES ALL OF THIS HAVE SOMETHING TO DO WITH WHY YOU'RE HERE?

	Of course! It has EVERYTHING to do with why I'm here.

	It was because of Matt. Matt, Bobby's younger brother was
getting married, and as a fence-mending idea, he asked Bobby to be his
best man. I'm sure it pissed everybody off, but there was no way they
could *NOT* invite us to all the wedding dinners and things.

	The rehearsal dinner was bad enough - talk about feeling a
chill! - but the next night was the Bachelor Party and against my
better judgment, but to please Bobby, I agreed to spend the night at
his parents' house while the guys went out for dinner and then back to
our place.

	After dinner with all the other wives and Bobby's mother, we
all got into the wine pretty good and Bobby's mom really got on her
high horse. I heard one too many comments about my `less-than-
reputable-past' and my `legendary availability to the opposite sex'
that I grabbed my overnight bag, my coat and my car keys. I wasn't
spending one more second with the nasty, old bitch.

	When I got to our house, it was obvious the party had already
moved here. There were cars all over the place and I had to park a
block away.

	I rang the bell and knocked and a very drunk Bobby answered
the door, yelling, "Let the games begin!" Then, quieter, "Oh! Sandy.
I thought it was the stripper."

	As I walked into the living room, I heard Bobby's father
snicker, "Hmpf! It is, isn't it?" And a good chunk of the crowd joined
him in a laugh.

	I felt myself blush as I passed through the room. Bobby didn't
come to my defense and I had had enough of his family's cheap shots at
me for one night. Furious, I grabbed two wine coolers out of the
fridge and locked myself in our bedroom.

	Downing the two coolers in record time, I sat on the bed so
pissed off I couldn't see straight. It didn't matter to Bobby's family
at all that the past was long behind me, that I had worked hard to be
respectable and get a good job, that I was a good wife for their son.
And I saw red thinking of Bobby not coming to my defense. How could he
let me down like that, especially in front of his father?

	I could tell from the noise that the stripper had arrived.

	I was going to stay in the bedroom until she left, but
thought, `fuck it,' and walked into the kitchen for a few more
coolers.

	Bobby was standing in the doorway, watching the stripper.

	`Thanks for coming to my rescue, Sir Galahad,' I sneered.

	He turned and looked at me, `Big deal. You fucked half the
guys here for money and you're offended my father called you a
stripper?'

	Even as buzzed as I was, I knew it wasn't the time or place to
get into it with him.

	I looked over his shoulder. The stripper was a short, cute
redhead with great legs, but no chest. She was naked and taking Matt's
cock out of his fly. As she straddled his legs, I couldn't believe he
was getting married on Saturday night and sticking his cock up a
strange cunt on Friday night - what a family! I had always thought so
highly of Matt, but he was just as low as the rest of them.

	I couldn't let the moment go, without a shot at Bobby, `She's
absolutely tit-less. I hope you didn't pay a lot for her, Bobby.'

	`Why don't you show us yours, Sandra, dear? As a point of
comparison.' Bobby's dad had been standing next to the doorway and I
hadn't seen him until he turned and gave me his slimiest smile.

	Of course, if daddy said `jump,' Bobby was in the air asking
`how high?' He raised his glass and downed his Scotch and nodded,
`Yeah, Sandy, show us YOUR tits!'

	He said it loud enough that several people on either side of
him began to chant, `Show us your tits! Show us your tits!'

	They followed me down the hall to the bedroom and banged on
the locked door as they chanted at me.

	The hurt, the booze, the put-downs, Bobby siding with his
family, Matt screwing a whore, guests in our house banging on my
door...

	The wouldn't stop banging and chanting!

	I screamed as I opened the door. They were quiet as they let
me pass through them into the living room. I climbed up on to the
coffee table. I found Bobby's face in the drunken crowd.

	`Fuck all of you! Start the music!'

	I was wearing a white crepe blouse and a black wool skirt.

	Under them, I had on a camisole and half slip, bra, panties
and pantyhose. Not the typical stripper's costume.

	I grabbed a mug of beer out of the hand of a nearby spectator
and chugged it as I started to pick up the beat of the music. I could
feel it inside me and all those thousands of hours dancing were not
forgotten. Though mostly dancing topless or naked, I had done a few
strips in my day, and I knew what the boys liked.

	I undid my blouse buttons and dropped the feathery material
off my shoulders and arms, leaving my long scarf tied around my neck.
I lifted the satin camisole up and over my head and threw it into the
crowd. I danced a little bit, showing them my tits in my bra before I
began unzipping my skirt. When it fell to my feet, I kicked it away
and dropped my half slip quickly. Knowing nobody found pantyhose sexy,
I made short work of them, rolling them down off my hips and having a
couple of boys pull them off my feet.

	I was in my bra and panties, and no one had left the room.

	Bobby was still standing next to his father, who was clapping
to the beat like everyone else. The crowd was wild. The stripper was
sitting on the sofa, between two of Bobby's brothers, giving both of
them hand-jobs as she cheered me on. "Do it, Sister!"

	I reached behind me and undid my clasp. The straps fell off my
shoulders and down my arms, but I held the cups to my breasts with my
arms. With the boys yelling for more, I bent over in front of Bobby's
dad and let the bra fall to the floor. As the boys roared their
approval, I thrust my chest out until they almost touched his nose. He
began to raise his hand to touch me and I danced to the other side of
the table.

	I owned the crowd and knew it. This was MY power play. I was
in control and I liked it.

	My panties disappeared in a flash and they all saw that I was
a natural blonde. I untied the scarf from around my neck and let it
drape over my sweating, naked flesh like some demented snake. I
twisted it tight and ran it between my tits and then between my legs,
pulling it up tight into my ass and cunt.

	I jumped off the table in front of Billy's dad and tossed the
scarf around the back of his neck. I looked into Billy's eyes as I
pulled his father's face down to mine. His father's lips met mine and
his tongue exploded into my mouth and his hands grabbed my asscheeks.
As his hands slid up my body to pinch my hard nipples I confirmed what
I had know all along about Billy's dad - he was just as dirty as I
was.

WHEW! WHAT HAPPENED NEXT, SANDY? DID HE FUCK YOU?

	Him and everybody else. Well, not everybody. Some guys cleared
out fast when Billy's dad plopped me down on the coffee table and
dropped his pants and shorts. His intentions were clear, as they say.

	What happened next? It became a real family affair. All four
of Bobby's brothers fucked me, including Matt, who I had always
considered a friend, and then whoever else was there took their shot.
There were enough guys left to keep me and the stripper full of hard
cock for the next two hours or so.

BOBBY'S FATHER AND THE SITUATION MANIPULATED YOU. HOW COULD YOU LET
THAT HAPPEN, SANDY?

	What can I say? I lowered myself to their expectations. I let
myself become exactly what they thought I was all along.

	Bobby just stood there and watched. Sometime later in the
evening, his father was sitting on the sofa with his hands buried in
my hair and his dick buried in my mouth and I heard him say, `Bobby,
my boy, you have great taste in whores, but lousy taste in wives!' and
then he laughed, and kept on laughing as I swallowed his cum.

	It was a very bizarre night!

	I woke up with a real banger of a headache. I was on our bed
with two guys I didn't recognize, and my ass slipped in a small puddle
of still-wet cum that had dripped out of my cunt. I hadn't been in a
gangbang like that since I entertained at a Knights of Columbus party
years ago.

	I peed and brushed my teeth and threw on a robe. I smelled
coffee.

	The sofa and chairs in the living room were filled with
sleeping bodies. The stripper was curled up on the floor with Bobby's
naked 18 year old cousin (yeah, he was at least 18), both snoring. I
winced as I remembered him cumming in my pussy and mouth the night
before.

	Bobby's father was in the kitchen, pouring a cup of coffee.

	He looked like he was on his way out to the office - clean
shaven, hair combed, dressed in his jacket and tie - the perfect
businessman.

	`Sandra,' he smiled, `you look like shit.'

	`I feel like shit. Who are all these people?' My feeble
attempt at hangover humor.

	`But, my dear, you know all of them intimately.' Again, the
diamond-cutting smile.

	`Are you happy? Did you prove to Bobby that he married a
whore?'

	He handed me his empty cup and walked toward the front door,

	`No, Sandra, *YOU* proved to Bobby he married a whore.'

	I threw the cup at him but it shattered against the wall.

WHAT A TERRIBLE SITUATION, SANDY! I FEEL SO BAD FOR YOU. WHERE WAS
BOBBY? DID YOU GO TO THE WEDDING?

	Wedding? Ha!

	I found Bobby sleeping in the guest room. I woke him up and
told him to get everybody out of the house. I locked myself in the
bathroom and stayed in the shower until I couldn't cry anymore.

	Bobby and I argued all day about whether to go to the wedding.
Finally we decided that he had to go because he was the best man, and
I could go, but didn't have to sit with his family.

	I sat in the car until it was almost time to start, and then I
quietly walked in and sat near the back of the church, alone in a pew.
None of the ushers, who were all at the party, looked me in the eye,
but the bride stared at me as she walked past. Her father looked
familiar and I was trying to remember if he was at the party, too.

	The ceremony began and when the priest asked if anyone knew
why the couple shouldn't be joined in `holy matrimony,' the bride
whispered something and the priest handed her the microphone.

	She turned around and faced the congregation. I hadn't been to
enough formal weddings to know that this was unusual.

	She lifted her veil and smiled at the crowd, `Good Evening,
everyone. I'm very pleased to see all of you here for this occasion. I
have a short announcement to make. I'm not getting married tonight.'

	Everyone in the church mumbled something and the bride
continued over the outburst `... You see, I found something out about
my fiancee, and I don't think I can go through with the wedding.'

	`Oh-oh,' I thought. I grabbed my purse to make a fast getaway,
but I wasn't fast enough.

	`Can everyone see the pretty blonde in the back of the
church?' The bride was pointing right at me! And every eye in the
place followed her pretty index finger.

	`Well, she was my future sister-in-law. She's married to the
best man, my fiancee's brother. Well, last night, at the Bachelor
Party, that pretty blonde screwed my fiancee, his brothers, his
father, all the ushers, and even my father!'

	Well, that answered my question about him! The bride's mother
passed out and her head hitting the pew front resounded throughout the
silent church.

	`That slut,' the bride continued, `used to be a cheap bar room
whore, and last night she sucked and fucked every man at the bachelor
party!'

HOLY SHIT!

	You can say that, again!

	Fortunately, I drove, so I hopped into the car and peeled
rubber getting out of there. I went to the house, filled the car up
with my clothes and make-up and drove here. I've been here since.

DO YOU THINK BOBBY WILL FIND YOU, HERE? IT'S KIND OF A OBVIOUS CHOICE.

	You're assuming he's looking. I don't think he is. And I can't
blame him if he's not. You can't change a leopard's spots.

	Besides, except for my car and my clothes, I'm broke; and this
is the only way i know how to make some real money.

	So, did you come back here to talk or to fuck? We better get
it on. It looks like I was missed and my old fan club has been lining
up all day to get a piece of me since I came back. I've been on my
back so much, I barely have time to dance!

	No, don't worry about that - save your condom and let's live
dangerously and do it bareback!

10/91