BACK IN THE SADDLE AGAIN...
MURPH <bamurphy@bitemespammers.iname.com>
BACK IN THE SADDLE AGAIN...
Yes, I know, it's not 2 Dec 2k yet, but it appears I may be out of
commission on Saturday [long story], so please accept my offering a few
days early....
Oh yea, and please count this absentee submission... :)
------------------------------------------
It had been a while since I'd last SC'd. My cashflow had reduced to a trickle and my home
life had radically changed - a long story as impossible to believe as an ALS party tale
yet every bit as true.
Late in November the Irish shined their eyes on me and I found myself with a nice bunch of
bux and no death-notice bills. I am expert at putting out pocket fires so I was confident
I could find a way to quickly extinguish this flare. I looked around me. A new G4 to
replace my aging 7200? Na. I had about $1k: about 2/3 the G4. I'd have to wait and I was
looking for some instant gratification. How 'bout that new DVD/LD player I'd been eyeing?
No good! It'll be on sale soon and I'd just kick myself for paying more today, despite the
fact I'm Protestant. [old joke] Finally I just gave up and jumped in the car and headed
for Fry's Electronics: there was BOUND to be something there I just HAD to have.
I headed out of the garage and instead of heading NE, my trusty Toyota turned NW: it must
have sensed the extra wallet-weight and, from experience, headed towards DJV-NH.
I tried - I REALLY tried - to correct the course, but the damned car was on autopilot and
wouldn't let me switch to manual until it came to a halt at the valet parking.
The unenlightened are sure to ask, 'Why didn't you just restart the car and head towards
Fry's?' I could explain, but it would be like trying to describe a sunset to a blind man.
Trading my keys for the well-worn and mysteriously sticky card, I paid the entry fee and
passed through the magic portal. At 4pm on a Tuesday, the ATM to ATF ratio is pretty low.
In this case, ATM's were outnumbered by at least two to one, and none of the advertised
ugly women were working. I looked around to see if I recognized anyone but didn't have any
high hopes: it had been over two years since I'd seen any familiar faces among the
lovelies.
The DJ, one face I'd have just as soon NOT recognized, was as obnoxious as ever; maybe
more so as he tried to coerce the smattering of customers to buy laps. After an
interminable harangue that questioned our collective manhood, he introduced the next
dancer as Sandy.
I smiled and sprouted wood as the memory of a Sandy I'd met at DJV-NH flooded into my
mind. She was a tiny 1/2 Chinese lass who was great fun in friendly conversation yet, once
in the lapdance booth, transformed into 4'10" of oozing sensuality.
Nature and my ASSC obligation both demanded I check out the loo. SSDD as to the condition
of the toilets [reasonably clean, well lit, no attendant]. It was clean enough I could
take care of a bodily function I hadn't realized until then was in need of attention. The
exhaust fans kicked into high, but they were little help. I had to wait until first the
odor cleared and then a bit more for several customers to come in so I could sneak out
with the crowd: I'd heard several people come in, groan, cough, then scurry out and didn't
want to be easily identified as the source of the noxious fumes.
Thus I missed all of Sandy's set and two-and-a-half of the next dancer's.
Oh well. The place was still fairly empty and, as it was my day off, I wasn't under any
time crunch: I'd surely get several more chances to see what I'd missed.
The elevated platform by the DJ is what I consider optimal seating. It's considerably
quieter, provides an unobstructed view of the entire club, and is just far enough away
from the stage I seldom have to fight for a seat. Today was no exception, so I got comfy
and flagged down a waitress.
While I was placing my order, I felt a tiny hand on my shoulder. I finished with the
waitress then turned, ready to respond "Maybe later" to the inevitable
'Wannadance?' question.
ohmyfuckingGOD! SANDY! 'MY' Sandy!
The waitress didn't miss a chance and asked if I wanted to buy the lady a drink. Before I
could answer, however, Sandy replied, "Not right now."
WTF? Oh yea, this was the one dancer who DIDN'T expect me to buy her a drink every time I
was asked. She considered me a real outside-the-club-even friend.
Before I could stand up and greet her properly, she moved my fag-bag out of the way and
sat down in my lap, greeting me in a far more satisfying manner. She hadn't changed since
I'd last seen her more than a year ago: her physical attributes every bit as delicious as
ever. She wriggled in my lap like a happy-to-see-me-puppy, but no puppy ever brought on
such a physical reaction!
When it pressed up against her thigh, she got up from her sidesaddle position. We'd spent
enough time outside the club in a casual non-sexual friendship I figured maybe I'd grossed
her out: wimminz can react like that sometimes, even dancers. The look on her face,
however, told a different tale. Rather than move to another chair, she straddled me,
taking care to position my parts directly across from her complimentary parts.
WHATTHEFUCK? She'd always reserved that kind of contact for the lapdance booth! In fact,
every time we'd been together out in the club proper - with exception of dollar dances -
the contact was almost never sexual.
Sandy gave me a knowing smile then broke into her typical intelligent friendly banter, all
the time working her hips in a figure-eight so subtle only we were aware it was happening.
I experienced something totally foreign to my SC experience: both brains operating
simultaneously!
The DJ's banter broke through our concerted efforts when he announced a half-price theme
room special. Sandy interrupted our discussion long enough to ask if I wanted to take
advantage of the offer; my response of course a resounding YES!
She scooted back, repositioned my bag as best as it would allow considering my condition,
then stood up and led me by the hand to the back rooms. There she whispered, "Trust
me" and guided me to one we'd never been in before. She kicked off her shoes, removed
her wrap, and waited for me to take off my glasses and bag, then motioned for me to assume
the position on the bed.
Laying back, I eyed the parachute canopy and pondered why she had asked me to trust her.
The next song began, signalling the beginning of our set, and she straddled me, her
'lapdance mask' coming over her face as she instantly dropped into character. Sandy leaned
forward, her hands sliding up my sides and my extended arms until her mouth was next to my
ear. With a husky voice she whispered, "The camera's broken", then leaned back,
a lustful look on her face implying WAY more fun to come [cum?].
Anything you can imagine I was thinking at this point is probably what I was thinking.
No, SK, nothing about referigerators, but anything else.....
Sliding forward a bit more, she began teasing me with her extremely tasty pair of
enhanced-by-only-a-cup-size-but-unfortunately-covered breastages. She rubbed first one
then the other across my lips. It
only took a couple times of this treatment to 'forgot' she was my bud in her alter-ego as
dancer and I began nipping and nuzzling, bringing her semi-erect nipples to full
attention. She dipped slightly and caught the edge of her bikini top on my nose. Before I
could react, she lunged slightly, pulling the loose-fitting top aside, exposing her bare
breast to my delighted eyes. Pausing just long enough for me to burn that image into both
brains, she moved so that I could explore even further with my lips, tongue, and teeth.
How many times had I dreamed of this? oui....
A few minutes [hours? milliseconds?] later she pulled away, shrugged her shoulder, and was
once again magically 'legal'. Sporting an evil grin, she sat up and turned around, placed
my tentpole beside her cheek and started rubbing up and down while she purred. The heady
scent of her female musk caressed my olfactories as her tasty tush waggled a scant few
millimeters from my lips. I had dreamed of tasting her since she'd positioned her female
parts in my face our first lapdance a few years before, but never had the cajones to
follow through. Today's 'foreplay' gave me cause to throw caution to the wind and my
tongue extended slightly, touching the alter.
She jumped slightly but, before I could frighten myself into backing off, she reached back
and slid the tiny bit of cloth aside. Pulling the pillow further behind my head, my tongue
began writing the alphabet on her eager blackboard.
By the time I got to 'e' she was moaning slightly. By the 'l' she was shoving herself back
on my face. As I got to the 'p' she began to shudder. On the 'w' her whole body spasmed
before she lay still. I patted myself on the back as I watched the opening before my eyes
'breathe' in rhythm with her lungs.
A few minutes passed and she turned around to whisper in a voice huskier than before,
"I owe you one - or two or three!", then burrowed into my arms through the end
of the set a couple minutes later.
Sandy grabbed her wrap off the end table and put it in place. I did the Spock eyebrow
thing and asked, "Where are you going?"
"Nowhere, and neither are you: this set's on me."
Look. This gal had been known to sit beside me in the club for hours without expecting a
dance or even a drink. She'd even 'bought' me a dance once. Things had been going better
for her lately and I had, after all, just made her smile on both ends. Hey! It could
happen! What am I saying: it DID happen!
Anywayz, the next song started, the counter counted, she flipped over onto my lap, pinned
me as only an 85lb-4'10" woman can pin a two-hundred-and-plenty 5'11" guy to the
bed, and gave me a devilish grin. Reaching into the front of her skimpy bikini bottom, she
retrieved a little gold coin [how the hell I didn't spot that before is anyone's guess],
tore it open with her teeth and slid back on my legs.
My jaw would have hit the ground had I been standing on a ladder on the roof of a 14-story
building.
Proving once again the value of wearing sweats to a SC, she leaned forward and pulled the
bow knot free with only her tongue.
She did this not by wrapping her tongue around a loose end and pulling her head back, but
with her mouth firmly against the fabric of the pants and the entire bow in her mouth.
Oh...
Still using nothing but her mouth, she grabbed the elastic waist and pulled it down,
exposing WAY more of me than I ever expected to be exposed in a SC.
...my....
Removing the ribbed-for-her-pleasure bit of rolled safety from it's protective package,
she placed it in her mouth, inhaled slightly, installed it where it was intended.....
....fucking....
...and continued unrolling it 'til it could be unrolled no further by any means.
....GOD!!!!!
She gave the bubbled end a quick kiss as she backed off, then grinned that devilish grin,
leaving me to wonder where she was headed next and praying it wouldn't be just a tease.
Two or three months passed before she slid forward until her parts were adjacent with
mine, continuing her slide 'til my part parted company with her parts slightly, then
back....
....until we were coaxial.
I exhaled.
I didn't know how long I'd been holding my breath, but it was long enough to hurt like
hell.
Sandy came to my rescue as she started to work back and forth 'til I was quite distracted
from the pain in my chest thankyouverymuch.
A sudden thought struck me and I freaked. "What if the counter comes thru? We'll be
TOAST!"
"Why do you think I put the wrap back on?", she purred.
oh.
Well, I've done got graphic enuf: I won't bother to go into more details. Suffice to say
it was the best *I* have ever had and it had little or nothing to do with the
'fear-of-being-caught' factor.
It was so amazing I filled the balloon once and, without missing a beat, was almost ready
to fill it again when she began to shudder and shake, her lips parted, and, instead of a
moan, she said, "Daddy?"
huh?
"Huh?"
"Daddy?"
Is this some kind of fantasy of hers? I AM nearly as old as her father. Maybe it's her
dark secret; what made her so damaged she turned to dancing as a profession.
"Daddy!"
She began to shake, I began to shake, and my eyes, which had been closed so I could
concentrate on only the tactile sensations, popped open.
shit
Instead of the erotic site of the lustful Sandy, I was looking into the eyes of my
9-year-old son.
fuck
I hate wet dreams.
B
--
WARNING! Warp core breach a lot sooner than you think! |