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So, you’ve heard how the bachelorette party was going for Jenna and Denise. Now we return to my bachelor party on that same night, just as we’re pulling into the parking lot a Diamond’s Gentleman’s Club near the LAX airport.
As noted before, I’ve never been big on sleazy nudie bars, but dammit if those USC cheerleaders hadn’t gotten me riled up, to the point where it wouldn’t take much to strike a tent pole in my Docker’s.
Diamond’s is a fairly high end place (pun intended!), but it still managed to put forth that familiar musty scent, somewhere between cigarette smoke and sweat. You’d think there’d be some identifiable sexual odors mixed in there with the amount of naked girls walking around, dancing and grinding, but I guess most strippers don’t get too aroused while on duty.
All six of us paid the $20 cover and shuffled down a dark hallway lit only by some unseen red lights (what other color would one expect?). I will say that the anticipation of walking into a strip club for the first time may only be rivaled by that first glimpse of the baseball diamond and the green grass on opening day. Even if it gets boring after a while, the pre-game is always enticing.
We emerged into a huge room deep in the throes of Saturday night. The clientele consisted of packs of inappropriate businessmen, some unhinged sailors, borderline underage dudes and bachelor parties like mine. The clubs I’d been in before had been dark, dreary joints populated mostly by bikers, druggies and lonely single guys like me who took the train in from the suburbs for their big night (or day) of secret rebellion. This place was more like a casino during prime time. Techno music blared from speakers mounted in every corner. There were two stages, both with at least one obligatory brass pole stretching from floor to ceiling.
The smaller of the two stages was ringed on all sides by a bar, with tables scattered behind it, and was occupied at the moment by a petite blond with a large set of unmoving breasts that were so fake it almost didn’t seem right to call her “topless”. There were black lights throughout the club, and her white thong glowed in the dark against her unreal tan. As we watched, she slowly slipped the thong to her ankles and stepped out of it.
“Fully nude, man!” Rob shouted in my ear as we took a table near the stage. “One of only 3 in the city where they take it all off. But this is by far the best one. Hottest chicks in L.A.”
As the dancer bent over and showed her finely sculpted ass to a table of military boys, there was a cheer from the surrounding tables, and the dollar bills came out in bunches.
Meanwhile, my eyes were drawn to the larger Stage 2, which was against one wall about 20 feet to my right, upon which 3 girls were doing their thing simultaneously. Two of them were about half covered with tattoos, which unfortunately means automatic dismissal in my book. The third, however, held my gaze. She had straight brown hair down just past her shoulders, what appeared to be bright green eyes, and a fabulously rockin’ body. Not so thin like so many strippers were, but more of the hourglass shape: well formed tanned tits currently encased in a green lace bra, a very short white skirt, underneath which appeared to be a matching green g-string. White high heels completed the outfit, though that’s one of my pet peeves with strippers and centerfolds alike: okay, yes, they push your ass up. But don’t they realize how sexy women in bare feet can be? And we certainly don’t need to see the high heels in the shower photo shoot. Lose ’em, ladies!
I watched her swing around the pole a few times until the bra came off. I was pretty much oblivious to everything else. She was wayyy cute, without the jaded, dead-eyed stripper look you see sometimes, as if they’re thinking about what to cook for dinner that night instead of the fact that they’re running a hand across their thigh. This girl seemed to be genuinely enjoying herself, and the sexy smile didn’t seem forced at all.
“Hey Thom, snap out of it!” Scott was yelling in my ear. “What are you drinkin’? Anything and everything pal. It’s on us.”
I ordered a Jack and Coke and tore my eyes away for a few moments. The girls that weren’t on stage dancing were roving around the room, talking and getting friendly with the customers, but I knew that their ultimate goal was to find a few takers for a lap dance. They were trolling for twenties, in other words. In my experience, some could get downright nasty if you balked at a dance and refused. When I was young and broke, I stepped into a few clubs with literally 5 bucks on me, and if there’s one thing strippers don’t appreciate, it’s a tightwad. I’d swat ’em away for a few minutes, until word got around that I wasn’t buying. At that point, they’d all leave me alone for the duration. I also learned the hard way not to pay up front for anything. I went to one club where there was a sort of performance ring surrounded by booths that were open to the ring side. Silent illegal bahis men stood inside each booth while two girls made out with each other in the center of the arena. If you held out a large enough bill, they would come over and fondle each other right in front of you. Being totally naive, I held out a 10 and handed it to one of the girls right when they got to me, at which point they simply moved on to the next guy. I just stood there like a chump, dumb and horny.
Every few minutes, one of the table girls would take a guy by the arm and lead him through a doorway covered with tinsel strands to what I assumed was the “private dance” room; the “champagne room”, if you will. I’d never had the money or the inclination to experience this, though one regret is that I didn’t try out the “shower room” at a club in Seattle one time. My guess is that you sat there trying not to pull out your rod and stroke it while a girl took a private shower in front of you. That, I could get into. I always wondered what the protocol was. Could you rub yourself? Could you take it out? There was that Chris Rock joke, “no matter what a stripper tells you, there is no sex in the Champagne Room.” A lot of grinding and dry humping, I guessed. I wondered if the girls were only naked from the waist up in there, though I suppose if you pay enough, anything is possible.
Rob was talking to a small-titted brunette wearing a nifty purple thong who had sat down at our table. He had apparently let the cat out of the bag about who the “special boy” was tonight. Her name was Missy, or Chrissy or something. It was too damn loud in there to tell which. The guys had pitched in and hired her to do a table dance for me, which I honestly would have passed on if given the chance. She was cute in a white trash sort of way, if a bit stringy, and a half naked girl is a half naked girl. However, my main issue with strip clubs is that I’m just not comfortable being sexual with a bunch of people around watching, let alone a table full of my buddies. It felt odd to sport an erection in front of them, and I knew I couldn’t relax enough to really enjoy the experience.
No matter, in buying me the dance they were getting a show as well, so my chair was pushed back and Missy or Chrissy got to work.
She was already topless, but had just about as much up top as my fiancee Jenna did, which is to say not much. Still, where Jenna’s tits were perky and sensual, Missy’s were just sort of there, and not very shapely at that.
She began by straddling me and lowering herself down onto my lap, shaking her dark wavy hair in my face. All I could smell was stale Camel Lights and some sort of fruity perfume that was losing the battle for scent supremacy. After a few moments she leaned back and ground those purple panties into my crotch.
No reaction down below.
The other guys were having a great time, hollering it up. I found myself stealing a few glances at my brown-haired favorite on the far stage. Both her and her discarded green lace panties were lying on the stage, and the view was fantastic. Even at 20 feet away, she was turning me on more than the girl with her ass in my lap. Her dance was over then, too soon in my opinion, and she left the stage, naked other than her high heels.
After several minutes, Missy turned around and placed both hands on the table, swinging that ass from side to side, just inches from my face. This was more like it, but honestly, the look on her face was as if she was reading the Wall Street Journal — just another day at the office. She did have a nice rear end, but boner-wise, I might as well have been sitting in pail of ice water. I decided it was perhaps the un-sexiest environment in which to have this experience.
When Missy/Crissy was done, we threw some more money her way and I thanked her for the ride. I put on an admirable bit of acting for the guys, telling them how awesome it had been, etc. but Scott could tell that I was mostly underwhelmed. He leaned into the table and said, “Fellas, I think I know what Tommy Boy needs tonight. I’ll be right back.”
With that he disappeared into the crowd. I finished my drink and had just ordered another when he came back, flanked by two stunning beauties, one of which just happened to by my brown-haired girl from Stage 2!
“I saw you had your eye on Miss Carli, here,” Scott beamed. “But, since you’re about to be chained to one single chick ’til your dying day, I figured you should avail yourself of the opportunity to go for a little “menage a twat”, if you know what I mean. Before it’s too late!”
I had to pick my jaw up off the ground, and the whole table laughed uproariously.
The second hottie appeared to be of half-Asian descent, and at just over five feet tall, was packed into a black lace teddy in a more than flattering way. Black silk stockings and a garter belt didn’t hurt the look at all, nor did her resemblance to the porn star Asia Carrera, who I was familiar with from many a fine film from my teens.
As illegal bahis siteleri for Carli, she had gotten dressed again, with the white skirt and a tight white tank top obscuring the green lace underwear underneath. Everything white was glowing in the dark.
I was about to protest that whatever this was costing Mike wasn’t worth it for another table dance, when the Asian girl took my arm and said, with no trace of any accent other than Valley Girl, “You have some very generous friends. Let’s go, lover boy!” I realized that were headed to the private dance room, and my pulse quickened.
Now, this…this I might be able to enjoy!
As I walked, hearing the fading hoots and whistles from my friends and just about every other table we passed, I couldn’t help staring at the way Carli’s ass moved under that skirt as she led the way. It was not unlike a USC cheerleader skirt, in fact, and I fantasized that I was about to get my own private grind on with two cheerleaders.
By the time we reached the tinsel covered door, it was getting difficult to walk, for all the right reasons.
The private dance room turned out to be only semi-private. It was essentially a circular chamber, low-ceiling-ed and dark, with a couch-like bench running all the way around. There were cushioned partitions spaced every 10 feet or so, and through the strobes and flashes of red and silver light I could make out writhing female forms hovering over other men seated on the benches.
The girls led me to an open cubicle and sat me down on the soft red plush. For a quick second I wondered just how clean this couch was, but consoled myself with thinking that the guys who sit here never take their pants off.
My two rented ladies went right to work on me. The Asian, who I learned was called Mya, began dancing seductively in front of me while Carli sat down on the couch at my side and began nibbling on my ear lobe. She was saying something at the same time, but the music, which was slower here and only slightly less annoying than in the main room, was so loud that her message was mostly lost on me. I certainly wasn’t complaining, though, especially when Mya turned around and sat down in my lap, which was beginning to be a fairly solid platform on which to sit. The black lace of her teddy was mostly sheer, and her tiny waist and shapely ass was close enough to touch.
Just as I was wondering what I was allowed to put my hands on, I suddenly understood what Carli had been trying to tell me. She repeated, “Above the waist in the back, and thighs down, front and back. Topless only.”
Got it. In other words, no ass, no pussy, no tits. Seemed a little restrictive, but since I hadn’t really touched anyone other than Jenna in a few years, I thought I could work with it and be happy as a clam.
Mya was wriggling pretty fast, so I put my right hand on the small of her back and felt that smooth lace all the way up to her shoulder. She was very warm. After a few seconds, she got up and switched places with Carli, and I caught a brief glimpse of a giant wet spot on my beige pants just before it was obscured by Carli’s green panties. Could she feel it? Was it from me or Mya, or both? My guess was that the lion’s share was mine. Either way, I had to remember to wear darker pants next time.
I was fully rigid by now, but my cock was trapped at an odd angle, and I ached to straighten it out. I wondered if grabbing your crotch was against the rules in this place. I certainly didn’t want this to end too soon.
Mya was now running her fingers through my hair. Carli had lost the tank top and the bra and was cradling my face between those fantastic tits. She actually smelled quite nice, like lilac or lavender or something. I tentatively let my right hand roam up and down her thigh as she straddled me.
I have to pause here to attempt to describe this girl’s skin. Perhaps I was just hyper-sensitive to this because of the forbidden situation, but I swear at first I thought she must have been wearing super thin nylon stockings or something. She was just so SOFT. Warm, tan, silky, smooth… I’d never felt anything like it. Not that my fiancee Jenna’s porcelain thighs weren’t heavenly in their own right, but I thought, ‘my god, are all hot young strippers this soft?” Couldn’t be, but if so, I’d been missing a lot.
When Carli turned around, slowly shaking that tight ass in front of my face, I reached out with both hands and ran my fingers up the back of her thighs until Mya gently redirected me just as I reached the beginning of the sculpted curve of her ass.
Mya shook her finger at me playfully and mouthed, “No, no, no! Off limits!”
I did find it odd that these girls could grind their crotch on me and shake their tits in my grill, but I still wasn’t allowed to simply run my hand over their ass. It was a strange place to find a selectively puritanical value system.
However, I decided to take full advantage of this fantasy.
I canlı bahis siteleri directed the girls to stand up and dance in front of me. They started to move slowly to the incessant beat of the music, and I thought ‘now this is fun’. I imagined I could do more than just touch and dream, and that these two were mine for the night. I had one hand on a creamy thigh and the other on a smooth black stocking. Heaven.
My cock, though, was in absolute agony. They had to have seen it doubled up under my fly. I’d have given anything to have one of them straighten it out for me.
Matters down below were not helped much when the two girls turned to face each other and started making out, hands roving over each other’s bodies, playfully tugging at various pieces of tight lace.
Suddenly, from out of nowhere, a burly bouncer-looking dude appeared. He tapped Mya on the shoulder, and just like that she was gone.
‘Hey,’ I thought. ‘Do we get money back for this?’
I was now “stuck” with only Carli, who was slowly sliding the white cheer skirt down over her thighs and down her legs to the floor, giving me a dreamy view of the tiny green lace thong and the amazing things it was doing to frame her smooth belly and the barely hinted at triangle of her pussy. I really wanted to see that thong come off next…
In about a minute, though, Mya was back, holding what appeared to be a piece of black silk, or maybe a silk handkerchief. She pulled Carli aside and said something in her ear, after which they both looked my way and smiled wickedly. They moved back to the couch and began to blindfold me with the silk.
‘What the hell?” I thought. Mike must’ve paid them to do something extra. But why the blindfold? I wanted to see this shit! That was about all I was allowed to do, after all.
Once the black fabric was tightly secured over my eyes, however, I began to experience everything around me much more vividly. The pulsing music, the alcohol in my system, the scent of the perfume, and the feel of soft, warm bodies brushing up against my leg, my arm, my face, my burning crotch…
They were all around me. All over me. All at once.
I wondered if now I might get away with an illegal touch, since after all, I couldn’t see where I was touching, right?
The one dancing in front of me now must have been Carli, as while I was caressing her legs I noted the absence of stocking. As she moved with her back to me, I took my hand off of her thigh and rested it right where I thought her ass must be, and bulls eye! I landed right near the crease between her cheeks, right on the thin strip of her g-string. I quickly explored the rest of that fabulous behind, expecting any second to have my hand slapped away and be scolded.
But it didn’t happen.
‘Holy shit. I guess the rules have been relaxed.’
I went for broke and slid my hand down, feeling between her legs and along the tight panty pouch concealing her pussy, and I’ll be damned if those panties weren’t soaked straight through! I could smell it now, that unmistakable musk of aroused snatch. Maybe I just hadn’t noticed it before now. Or maybe she was getting turned on by this illicit behavior.
Slowly, I felt her turn around to lower her body down on top of me, and suddenly a hand grabbed my cock through my pants, hard. Expertly, my shaft was pulled up and straightened out until it pointed upward toward my stomach. It was a quick, experienced move, as if she’d done it a hundred times before. Why she made me wait so long was a mystery, but oh, the relief! Add to that the orgasmic ecstasy as her crotch landed squarely on my rod, my stiff shaft nestling into the gap of her lips through the panties as she slid back and forth.
Now, for some reason, nothing that had happened so far had felt like cheating to me, but I began to wonder if a line wasn’t being crossed here. It was also obvious to me that either way, there was no turning back now. Whatever happened, I was no longer in charge.
I felt the cushion settle as Mya sat down next to me again, then a hand on my cheek, roaming down the back of my neck, to my shoulders, my chest. Another hand spread as the fingers ran through my hair. ‘Hmmmm…what other rules are no longer in effect,’ I wondered.
I knew exactly what I had to try next, so I placed both hands on Carli’s small waist and gingerly moved up her torso to those…tits.
Yes, they were there.
Yes, she was still topless.
Only, there was no way these were Carli’s tits. They were much smaller, perkier, though still nice, with firm erect nipples. Sort of like…
I must have audibly gasped, because I heard some very familiar giggling, after which the blindfold was slowly removed. When my eyes adjusted to the dim light, I saw that it was indeed my sexy fiancee that was grinding away in my lap, wearing red lace panties and nothing else. She was, however, made up like senior prom: hair up and curled, makeup impeccable, a thin gold chain around her neck that I knew she must have borrowed. There was even some body glitter in evidence. It was my one and only, alright, and I’d never seen her look so hot; made up like a slutty stripper and enjoying the role to the hilt.
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