The pleasure of knowing my nudes in a sex club next to photos of other hot women motivated me to take two more poster-sized shots of myself to the club. The new adult shop was a discrete as it was before. Video, toys, and more read a sign above the entrance. At first glance, one could think it was a video and book store for adults, with some toys to buy.
Anyway, I entered and saw a familiar face at once, the guy who had sucked my tits devotedly, Tom who runs the shop. He greeted me heartily, kissed a cheek, and said he would love to show me around.
The whole place had the air of a private club. Tom stated proudly, the concept works well, the increasing numbers of customers would speak for themselves. The old fashion peep show booths for watching discreetly girls were gone. Instead, they got a small cinema, which can be converted to a stage for live shows. Separated from the shop, he opened a door and let me in. Maybe twenty people could be seated, a layout like a jazz club in the 1920s, cozy chairs around five or six round tables. The smell of fresh paint hung in the air.
Black and white pictures of erotic women covered the walls. My heart jumped when I spotted between all the great-looking women two pictures of me. Tom said he had left a space for more pics since I fit in here perfectly. I know self-praise is not noble, yet he was right. Paul, my husband and photographer, did a great job as well.
The low light, candles on the tables made the room relaxing. A small bar with a few chairs in front completed the arrangement.
'The stage seems small to me,' I said. Tom shook the head, stated it would be twice as big as the old turning table in the other club, and let me to the scene. He pushed a button, and the wall with a screen for watching movies spun around and revealed a spacious, stylish bed, the silk sheets in dark red.
A moment I thought he wanted me here. Maybe to satisfy an idea or fantasy of his, or more likely, to see my reactions. And I got one. A strange tingling sensation filled my body. He seemed to notice and said smiling, 'Look around, I will be back in a minute.'
With him gone, I tried to imagine what it would feel like, me on the stage, undress, fucked by a guy or gal, strangers watching me. I sat down on the bed and felt the dark red silk covers in my hands. They were cold and soft, and I imagined myself buried the face deep in the sheets, on all fours, a guy fucking me so hard that I would feel his dick in my throat.
The steady murmur from the store next to the club was mutedly audible. I got up, put the purse on the bed, and started to dance to imaginary music. I needed the physical experience, movements like dance, to conceive what it would be. I smelt the place, but I needed to touch it, feel it under my feet, hear my steps, my breath. I kicked the shoes off, danced faster, felt the restrictions in movement by the blazer, took it off like an erotic dancer or what I thought she would do, and spun around. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Tom, who had taken a seat.
I stopped and glanced at my watch. A meeting at the office was scheduled later that day, purely routine. Concerning my part, I was well prepared. In short, I could kill a good two hours. Curious what Tom had in mind, I jumped off the stage and had a closer look. He said he saw me dancing and thought a classy woman like me should keep her secrets. The audience has to ask themselves, who is she, who is the mysterious enchantress. A mask would do it. He handed one to me and adjusted the straps. Instantly I felt fine and, strange enough, confident. Tom responded with a plethora of compliments and asked me to try a wig cap. I donned it and hid the hair underneath. Finally, he gave me a wig with long curly blond hair.
The reflections in a mirror made me think the person I see can't be me. Tom wanted me to hop back on stage, and so I did. Minutes before, when I thought of the meeting, my mind was razor-sharp. Now, on the boards, I felt like in an erotic dream, a kind of trance, unreal.
Tom played music of the 1980s. The blouse made it to the bed. I took the bra to a test, shook the boobs, bent like a flexible young girl, opened the hooks slowly, and threw the cotton prison to my fan. The trousers flew on the bed. Finally, I pushed a hand in the pants, massaged the clit, stuck a finger in the vagina, and licked off the coated juice hedonistic. I had not to look; the pants were cum stained. I pulled them down, revealed my bold pussy, and did the splits in front of Tom, standing on one foot. I can't tell how often I did a strip at home, for Paul, for ex-lovers, and most of all for myself. Now I stood on a stage.
Tom was puzzled. He babbled some words, something like he didn't expect me to go that far, an appointment with representatives of a supply chain. The sight of me, my pussy, cum dripping out, was too much for him. He jumped on the stage, got on the knees, and ate me out. His warm wet tongue circling my clit drove me to sexual heaven. That moment I wished Paul would be with me. We had talked about a situation like this one over and over. Eventually, Paul gave his thumbs-up to fuck another guy without him on the condition I have to tell him. I got back on both feet and said, 'that's enough for today. Where is the ladies' room?'
Tom told me and insisted on casting when we both got more time. On the spur of the moment, I said yes. He blew me a kiss and left.
All of a sudden, I was alone. Or that's what I believed. Somewhere out of the dark, a male voice said, 'you are an adventurous woman, seeking an extra thrill here and there. I love that, breaking up rules. You are so gorgeous, stunning, shouldn't be difficult to get what you want.'
'You are right about me but wrong to get what I want,' I replied and reached for the undies.
'You don't look like you have ever fucked for money,' he said.
'Is it a question or a statement?' I asked and continued, 'nope. I'm toying with the idea of paying a guy for professional massage and fucking. That's what people like you do, just the other way around because I'm like you.'
'Do you think poor of the guy you pay for fucking?' he asked.
'I don't know what you do for a living,' I replied. 'Yet I'm positive your boss and your customers fuck you daily on a different level. Do you feel poor when you give away a part of your life for money, just because of a fancy title or position?'
He laughed and said, 'looks like we're cut from the same cloth. Make my day, and I make yours. Let me fuck you, and I pay you 400. What do you think?'
I looked at him. He was tall, slim, muscular, cultured. A guy who does his daily workout program with the precision of a clock, presumably. I said, 'your vision of the world must be easy. Money buys everything. Besides, there is a health issue, and I'm short on time.'
'Let me suck your tits. I would love to feel their weight.'
