She talked about being a stripper, and I believed her. She spoke of going to school instead, and avoided the sorry myth of stripping to fund an education. She went out with guys for a week or two then dropped them, totally losing interest. She went out a lot, partied, danced, got drunk.
She talked often about becoming a stripper in one of the posh suburbanclubs, where men dressed nicely and carried big wads of cash. I held little doubt that she could do well. Her body was fit, firm and curvy, covered in olive skin that glowed with her chronic tan. Her tits were offensively perky, and the long pencil eraser nipples showed easily since she usually opted not to wear a bra. Those tits should bring her a nice roll, though they were not the overinflated silicon beach balls too many girls were sporting today.
She was named Lisa, and she wasn't very smart. That didn't matter to me in the least - I just wanted to fuck her. That desire, that urge grew stronger each time we met, often at my house. I was under 25 and lived alone, so all of my friends and other hangers-on came around whenever they chose. She often came with them, and I would watch her, drink in the details, try to work out an approach.
After everyone had gone, my sort-of girlfriend, Joyce, would get the fucking of her life. She didn't feel like Lisa at all - Joyce was too tall, too long and too lean. Nevertheless, she was willing and in reasonable shape, and yielded to me in bed. Each time I saw Lisa, I became more aggressive with Joyce, more demanding, taking out my unfulfilled need to have Lisa. Joyce never complained, in fact, she got off harder the further I took her. I think that's why she acquiesced for as long as she did - no one had ever made her come so hard or so often.
And in the darkness, Joyce served as a surrogate for Lisa, and as I pounded Joyce I imagined Lisa beneath me, her tight pussy gripping my cock, those powerful, shapely thighs clamping around my waist for added leverage as she fucked back against me. If the lights were on, I'd turn Joyce over onto her stomach, grab a handful of hair, close my eyes and fuck her mercilessly.
Lisa began to come around more often, though never alone. We'd share the couch and talk under the loud music and boisterous conversation filling up the room. Again, she would talk of stripping, how much money she thought she might be able to make. I nodded my head, and never failed to drop my eyes to her fabulous tits each time the subject came up. Lisa never failed to follow where my eyes were going. She said nothing of it. I assumed, since she wanted to strip for cash and rarely wore a bra, that she anticipated, perhaps enjoyed, my staring eyes.
I took silent note of the fact that those perky nipples tightened visibly the longer my gaze lingered on them. When she left, I would pin Joyce down to the bed and suck and bite her tiny nipples, turn her over to enter her, and pinch them between myfingertips, pulling and twisting as my cock ground inside her.
It wasn't enough. I told Joyce we weren't compatible, and in her dull pliable manner she listlessly agreed, and that was that. I stopped masturbating, letting the sexual energy build up. Lisa kept stopping by to have the same conversations with the sentence order only slightly altered, but I didn't care. My eyes took in her body, savoring the curves, lines, and muscles. My fingers twitched, wanting handfuls of her silky smooth dark hair.
One of the many nights I sifted through her inanities searching for a way in, she threw open the gates. She steered the conversation, as always it seemed, to stripping.
"Lisa," I asked, "what would your boyfriend think about you getting up in front of all those men and getting naked for money?"
"I don't have a boyfriend."
"Why not?"
She shrugged and looked down at her hands, twining her fingers together. "None of them are strong enough for me." I paused, trying to sort this out. Most of the guys she messed with were physically fit, some of them monstrously so. This wasn't about muscles.
I played dumb. "What do you mean? I've seen some of those guys. They look like pro wrestlers."
Lisa shrugged again, then leaned back against the far end of the couch. Her jeans pulled snug at the crotch, and I couldn't help but look.
"They just aren't strong enough for me," she said quietly. I had to strain to hear her.
"In what way are they weak?"
"In ways that you're not."
My cock twitched in my jeans. "What would you know about me?"
Lisa let out a throaty chuckle. "When Joyce drinks, she's got a big mouth."
I shifted to take the pressure off my dick, letting it stretch along the inside of my left thigh. Lisa glanced down at the bulge, her eyes narrowing to slits.
"Tell me, Lisa, what did Joyce have to say?" People started to leave, tossing goodbyes toward me on their way out the door. Lisa made no move to leave.She leaned further back against the arm of the couch and let her legs fall open, the seam of those tight jeans bisecting her mound.
"She told me that you fucked her whenever and wherever you pleased. She told me you were a bit rough with her, but you made her come so many times that she kind of liked the hard treatment. She said that you were demanding."
"Did she tell you I dumped her?"
Lisa shook her head. "No. Why?"
"She was too easy to push around, and too passive in bed. "
"Really? She sounds kinda slutty to me."
"'Kinda'. That's the problem. She was playing at it."
