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Slow Tease, Sweet Revenge 2
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
Subject: Slow Tease, Sweet Revenge (Part II)
Date: Thu, 18 May 1995 17:19:58 UTC
I've heard feminists complain about strip bars, saying that it is exploitation
for a woman to dance in front of men for money. I agree that in cases where
girls are dancing against their will, the feminists are right. But I truly
believe that the real victims at a strip-tease bar are the men. After all, a
guy will walk into a strip bar horny and lonely with some money in his pocket.
He'll watch some luscious babes dance seductively for him - while the whole
time he can only look but never touch. Then he'll go home hornier, just as
lonely, with no money in his pocket. Sucker!
So that became my hobby... every Thursday and Friday evening, teasing desperate
men for money. I revelled in it! I got my legs waxed, and I trimmed my pubic
hair so that there was only a wisp surrounding my sweet spot. I continually
moisturized my skin, keeping my whole body soft and smooth, and I tanned darkly
and evenly, so that there was only a tiny white line around my waist, left by
my string bikini bottom. I let my strawberry-blonde hair grow long and lush,
down to my lower back. Of course, I still worked out on a daily basis, so my
ass and legs remained hard and taught, my breasts were firm, and I didn't have
a hint of fat on my entire body. As an additional luxury, I rubbed Obsession
body fragrance between my breasts, on my neck and on my thighs. I looked like
I walked straight out of the pages of Playboy or Penthouse (okay... I never
quite mastered that "clueless" expression... maybe it's a genetic thing!).
Needless to say, I was irresistable.
On Thursdays and Fridays, I always found it a little harder to concentrate in
class, because I would get hot anticipating my work that evening. When I got
home to shower and prepare, I took the phone off the hook, because I was too
excited to talk to anyone. I selected my outfits carefully each night, to
match my mood. Sometimes I chose to look like an innocent little girl, with
frilly lingerie and a bow in my hair, or like a farmer's daughter, with super-
short denim shorts, cowboy boots and a frilly, polka-dotted tank top. Other
times, I felt hard and cruel, and I wore a black leather miniskirt and spiked
heels. Often I wore a loose strand of tiny sea-shells around my waist and a
flower over one ear. Naked and tanned, wearing heals, the strand of sea-shells
and the flower, I looked like a tropical goddess from a young boy's fantasy.
By the time my music started and I hit the stage each night, my nipples were
hard and I was ready to go! Thus started four hours of hot strip-tease, that
would turn me on more than most things I'd ever experienced! Slowly pulling my
clothes off while looking into a helpless man's eyes, dancing naked, humping my
little towel on the stage, rubbing my body while watching myself in the mirror,
sticking my ass into guys' faces, holding my tits centimeters away from some
poor fool's eyes... while the whole time they throw money at me. Ooh la la!
I get wet just thinking about the power I have over all those pathetic little
boys who come to worship me twice a week! Needless to say, I love my job...
Now I'm into my second year of dancing and I have my very own following. I've
even achieved a bit of local celebrity: I posed for one of those college girl
spreads in a popular magazine that did a feature on "Florida Beauties". Each
week, I can count on seeing some of the same faces. They are usually the guys
who come with the big bucks and ask me to do private dances for them. I happily
oblige, and give them fifteen minutes of slow-burning attention that leaves them
wide-eyed and speechless. During the private dances, I allow my man to caress
my ass and legs while I gyrate my hips and fondle my breasts for him. I will
lean forward and whisper in his ear, "You look cute with your mouth hanging open
like that", and then I'll lightly kiss his cheek and brush my lips against his.
Not surprisingly, some guys are obsessed with me. So, for protection last
Spring, I started "dating" this big hulk of a bouncer named Steve, although
in reality I made it very clear to him that we were only friends. He made me
feel safe when he would walk me to my car after work. And eventually, we became
really close friends. Steve's buddies used to kid him about our platonic
relationship, but Steve was genuinely sweet, and respected the fact that I only
thought of him as a good pal. We spent a lot of time together talking and
going to movies and stuff, and every now and then, I would set him up with one
of my sexy coworkers or classmates.
I enjoyed Steve's company, and the majority of the time I didn't need his
protection, except for two incidents that occurred with one particular creep
who came to watch me every week, each night that I worked.
(TO BE CONTINUED...)
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