1 comments/ 23019 views/ 5 favorites Marjam Ch. 01 By: SwedishAmanda I felt a knot in my stomach like I had never felt before. It's not as if I was about to go on stage for the first time. I had been working as a stripper for four months, and enjoyed the work. This night was different though. I would be working a new club and my boyfriend of nine months was going to be in the audience. I say "nine months" but we've spent the last seven of them apart, and our status was a little unclear at that moment. He didn't know I was going to be there. He didn't know I was an exotic dancer. A stripper. A pole dancer. He would never, in a million years, expect me to walk out on that stage. I was kind of counting on that, actually. I had convinced myself that he wouldn't recognize me. Now I wasn't so sure...I was afraid that I might be in for a very awkward moment. I knew, intellectually, that I didn't resemble the Amanda of seven months ago. I had lost thirty-five pounds. I was toned. Before he had left I had already been spending my days at the gym, and had dropped three dress sizes during the time we were dating. But the last four months had been a headlong pursuit of sex appeal, fueled by my nightly stripping. Recently, my headlong pursuit had gone into overdrive. In a panic that Max might recognize me, I went on a weekend-long makeover/spending spree with Shelly, one of the girls from work. We flew to Vegas and went to all the places where the showgirls get their "work" done. Shelly got a tanning treatment, I got this skin-lightening treatment that hid all of my freckles and gave me a complexion the color of porcelain. I went platinum blonde and got these amazing showgirl extensions, thick, cascading blonde ringlets down to my ass. I got a temporary tattoo on my lower back, a "tramp stamp" in the colloquial. Onstage, I felt protected, confident, and the master of my own illusion. By then I had realized how the stage and the bright spotlights, although designed to utterly expose you to the audience, actually serve to obscure you. When you're up there, no one can see you clearly, because the audience is mostly primed to suspend disbelief. They are paying for a fantasy, and they want to make you the object of their fantasy. It doesn't matter how beautiful you are in objective terms, but how willing you are to play along. You get their attention by flaunting yourself shamelessly, yet remaining unavailable. You win them over by rewarding them with a glance, a movement, or a smile. In other words, you show them attention. As I've slimmed down and simultaneously gotten better at dancing, I seem to be winning more and more people over. Without being conventionally pretty, I seem to have a lot of strip club-patron appeal. I look young (I can pass for 15), exotic (pale and blonde with Asian-looking eyes), and voluptuous (more hourglassy that wineglassy these days). My biggest night, I played a "busty-Asian-schoolgirl," otherwise known as "stripper-marketing-genius." I was really self-conscious about it at first. I'm not the kind of girl who's used to getting a lot of attention from men. I'm short, and have been overweight since age 11. I had an extraordinarily awkward phase, which lasted until I was 17. I was less than five feet until then. I managed to be overweight, flat chested, and acne-ridden all at the same time. I didn't get my period until 14 and didn't get all me pubic hair until 15. When my breasts finally came, at 16, they exploded, leading to endless bra-buying misery and making me look heavier. In college I started going to the gym to lose weight, and it was there I started taking cardio-striptease. I was shocked at first to find myself learning how to ride a pole and "thread the needle" (a move where you bend over and thrust your ass out as if you're asking to be fucked from behind, and then reach back between your legs.) But I was good at it and became friends with the instructor, who invited me along to her other job the Squire, and she eventually got me up onstage as a way to boost my self-esteem. This was around the time I met Max. He never knew about the stripping but I was feeling better about myself than I ever had and it showed. He was a grad student in my field, ten years older than me, and we hit it off instantly. We stayed up all night talking, mostly about our work and future careers. Nine months ago, we kissed for the first time. For two months we fooled around. Seven months ago he got a job as an advisor to the President of a newly independent former Soviet Republic, and he's been there ever since. Max wrote me, a week ago; to tell me he might be traveling to the States. I asked him when he was coming home. He said he didn't know. But Max's best friend, Saul, knew. He told me that Max was flying into DC and would be attending a bachelor party for his Boss's son. I asked him where the bachelor party was being held. He to told me he promised not to tell, but eventually he disclosed that the party would be dropping by "the highest-end, most exclusive gentlemen's club on the east coast." A little bit of Internet research yielded a club called Maryam. Maryam was miles away from the gaudy, chrome-and mirror décor of the Squire. It was all sumptuous Victorian wood paneling, draped in velvet, with a theatre-in-the-round type stage with footlights, curtains, and scenery. I'm told they do everything from campy burlesque to live sex shows. I'm also told that the raunchier the show, the higher the echelon of Washington society will be in attendance. Maryam was so classy that, I have to admit that I, Ivy League student that I am, felt a little out of place there. I'd changed a lot from the mousy honor student of seven months ago. One could even say I fit in very well at the Squire, because I looked like well-fed porn star. This is not to say I was chubby, at all; my waist was only 26 inches. My boobs, however, were disproportionately large and made me look fat in street clothes. As I lost weight, my boobs continued to fill out, to a 34DDD, E, or EE bra, depending on where I buy it. I usually wear minimizer bras, but they tend to spread the volume around, so that you look kind of barrel-chested. When your bust is that big, it makes you look heavier than you are, so a lot of people a school haven't noticed the change that have been going on underneath my baggy sweaters and jeans. Before I walked into Maryam I felt like I was incognito, in gigantic sunglasses and heavy makeup, protected by my "stripper" persona. Once inside, I felt a little foolish. I was met by an elegant woman in her late twenties who looked at me like she saw right through me. I felt like apologizing on the spot, explaining that this wasn't really "me," that I'm not really a stripper, and that I'm sorry if I put them in a bind but that I don't really do this sort of thing. I was scared to turn back, though, so I stuck with the script. "Hello," She said, extending her hand, "and welcome." I took her hand, a little awkwardly, and did a little, genuinely nervous curtsey. "How do you do." I managed to squeak. "I'm Amy, the stage manager. Would you like me to call you 'Princess' or...." "Sure, that's what they call me." I said, giggling nervously. "Well then, let me show you around. Then we can rehearse your piece." "Um, rehearse?" I asked. She smiled. "You might find this to be a little different than the work you've done before. We want you for your dancing skills, but I'd also like to see if you can act. Have you ever worked in the theater before?" " Errrmm...a school play?" "I think every performer has a bit of the showman inside of them. Lets you and me see if we can tease it out, shall we?" Four hours later, and there I sat with the knot in my stomach, on a high stool, in the dressing room, being attended to by a makeup girl and a costumer. The program for the evening was a wild fantasy night, with live sex acts. Since I would be doing a solo piece that meant I was supposed to get off onstage. I was assured that I could incorporate my usual dancing, but there would have to be a little more theatricality, and, if I had trouble having an orgasm onstage, some very realistic simulated masturbation would be called for. They'd given me some aphrodisiac tea to help me get in the mood, and I sipped as the stagehands did their magic. And magic it was. I was utterly unrecognizable. I was wearing what could be described as a burlesque version of a Cinderella dress. It was knee-length, was made of white satin with powder-blue trim, and was generally as frilly and girly as a dress could be. The bodice tightly covered my bust, and had a small pink bow right at the neckline. I had another huge bow tied around my waist, which trailed down the back of my skirt. Underneath I wore a poofy ballerina-like petticoat, a white garter belt with stockings, and a tiny wisp of a lacy thong. I had also been laced into a corset, which cinched my waist to about 22 inches, and the dress was high waisted and fitted to show off the effect. The corset dramatically enhanced by breasts, which were supported by a shelf that pushed them up from below, so they had nowhere to go but up. My new 'do was piled high atop my head, and cascaded down my back in silver ringlets. I had been thoroughly made up. My lips and nipples had been painted hot pink against my alabaster skin, and I wore glittery blush on my cheeks, and thick false eyelashes. Amy gasped when she saw me. The effect was indeed arresting. I looked like a pornographic babydoll, expressionistic and strangely elegant. "Princess, did get a look at yourself?" Amy asked, genuinely excited. "You look amazing. How do you feel?" "Nervous." Perhaps it would be more accurate to say I was about to faint out of fear. The stranger and more cartoonish I started to look, the more afraid I became of being recognized. Of course, this was exactly what I wanted. And therein lies the dilemma. The higher I flew, the farther I had to fall, I realized. If Max recognized me, he would be horrified. Amy sat down next to me and looked me in the eye. "Listen, I know who you are. I know that you're not like most strippers, that you have a high IQ and go to an Ivy-League college. You come from a high-powered, successful and loving family and you've never been able to express your sexuality until now. I don't really care about any of that. It's not important. "I care about my work. And you're perfect for it. Do you know why? Because you're a show-off. An exhibitionist. Being onstage isn't a hustle for you; it makes you feel sexy and that feeling can be very powerful. You need to unleash that tonight. I knew from the picture you sent me that you'd please at least some of the patrons. I knew that you'd be, at least, great eye-candy from the stage. I didn't know you'd play the part so well. I want you to do a good job tonight more than anything." "Thank you." I said. "Don't thank me yet. You could flop. You could embarrass both of us. You could get distracted and self-conscious and end up forcing yourself to go through the motions. You could make people wonder who you are and what you're doing onstage." I nodded, listening intently. "Listen, I'm not trying to scare you, I'm just telling you the truth. You think that all the showgirl accoutrements disguise who you are, but they don't. Sitting here face to face I see a mousy, insecure girl who puts on airs of indifference and politeness so no one will notice her. And you know what? It works. I don't notice you! You look like the fat girl at the prom that has no date. What I mean is, you're trying to make sure everyone else is having a good time and not feeling sorry for you. The clothes, the makeup, the dancing...it's all just an effort to blend in." I felt a little ashamed, and a little indignant. Who did she think she was? But I couldn't argue with her. I was happy just to be pulling this off, happy for the tips and the compliments. If I failed to win over all of the customers, it was partly because I held back a bit. It was less threatening to my co-workers that way, and they liked me better. I never really tried to take it to the next level, to give the audience a show they couldn't ignore. I was denying my own desires, which included the thrill of exposing my sexuality onstage. "Ok" I said. "There are a lot of smart and discriminating people in our audience; perverts, to a man, but very successful and powerful perverts. They spend their time and money here, at no small risk of personal exposure, because we give them an experience they can't get anywhere else. We give them fantasies they never could have imagined. As the stage manager, this is not an easy thing to replicate week in and week out. It's a feat that involves a keen grasp of psychology, imagination, a sense of drama, and, most importantly, good people to help me pull it off. The set designers and make-up people are the best in the business, so are my actors. Especially my actors. It all depends on them really. Tonight it depends on you. "The stage act is just a teaser, really. We make our money from the VIP rooms. If you make a good impression you'll be invited to one of them. For each girl the club provides, we earn ten thousand dollars an hour, plus bar tab, plus room rental fee. You'll earn at least $1500 in tips, probably more, just for being there. Any additional services you wish to provide are up to you." "Let me stop you right there." I said. "There will be no 'extra services.'" "That's your business, Amanda. You just have to be there. The only thing we ask is that you be courteous and friendly." "Like a Geisha?" I laughed. "Um...I don't really see myself pulling that off..." "If it makes you feel any better, you probably won't be invited. There are six VIP rooms and 18 performers tonight. Don't forget, they're the best in the business. These are not pole-dancers working for tips. They're performers who know how to work these rooms, and, at least some of them, at least, are really good at what they do. Most of the patrons are here to see a particular performer and they'll want to hire that performer. Chances are, you'll go home empty handed, as most girls do their first nights. But you never know. What I've found to be the case, though, is that you either have it or you don't. You have it, at least in rehearsal." "I don't know..." I was intrigued, the butterflies in my stomach flapping a thousand times a minute. Surely, this is where I turn back, I thought. "Most of the rooms have been reserved by regulars. We're expecting the parties of a couple of politicians and financiers, and an athlete. However, a room has been reserved for the bachelor party of the son of a foreign head of state. He has almost limitless resources and it's his first time here. He'll probably be your best bet. I'll let you know ahead of time where his party will be, so you'll know where to direct your attention." My heart leapt to hear confirmation that Max would be there with the President's son. This set the wheels in my head turning. I could actually end up in the same room with Max. The news both thrilled and terrified me. But it seemed perfect. I needed to try. And I trusted Amy that I could pull this off. "Tonight is not the night to blend in, Amanda. This is not the time to be your wallflower self. Tonight is your night to be noticed. Forget about what I said before, ok? This isn't the prom. It's a sex club. And look at yourself; you belong here!" I looked in the full-length mirror. I could see the magnificent, unrecognizable me, under the appreciative gazes of Amy, the seamstress, and the makeup artist. "We've made you ridiculously sexy, now act that way! Live your character! I don't know that I could have imagined I'd ever find someone so perfectly suited to play her. I mean, think about it; she's you. She's this shy, homely, lovesick little girl who transforms herself into a brazen, wanton temptress. You get to draw from the shy parts of yourself and the exhibitionist parts." Why the hell not, I thought. I wanted to do this. I looked incredible. I could move my body as well as anyone. I knew how to work a room. The simulated masturbation scared me a little bit, but I was basically doing that when I danced at the Squire. I'd just have to turn it up a notch. If I risked being invited to a room, then Max would be there, and that's what I wanted, wasn't it? I didn't even mind the idea of doing a little private striptease, or a lap dance, which I had practiced with my coworkers but had never done professionally. "Ok," I said. "I'll do it." "Of course you will. You'll be sensational. Just remember how we've rehearsed it. You go on in an hour. Break a leg!" I stood onstage just before curtain, with the suffocating knot in my throat. On top of everything else, I was horny. I wasn't sure if it was the aphrodisiac having its effect, or the subtle feeling of power knowing I was about to perform for Max in costume. A childlike, music-box sounding song began to play over the sound system. The curtain raised and the footlights came on. The stage was raised about five feet in the middle of the room. I was surrounded by a darkened lounge, and I could see corseted girls serving drinks, but with the stage lights in my face I couldn't see the patrons at the bar. Most of the audience was behind mirrored glass, in one of the VIP rooms that faced me, level with the stage, all around me in a semicircle. Number two, the second room on my left, was Max's room. I could see my reflection in his window. I was sitting on an oversized pink four-poster bed, wearing my little girl princess dress. Girly pink furniture, including a dresser, a makeup table, and mirrors surrounded me. I was shocked by what I saw. I hadn't thought about how dark this performance was. I was young-looking anyway, and I really looked like a little girl on that giant bed. It suddenly occurred to me how disturbing this scene could be. I also realized that it was largely in my hands. I was in control of this character; I had to make her come to life as something other than a scared little girl. It was show time. I looked directly at Max's window and beamed, delightedly. I could see a lot of me in that smile, and I hoped Max could too. I leapt off the bed and did a knee-drop down to the floor, rising to my feet with a little pirouette to show off my incongruous hourglass figure. I bounded over to a wardrobe, on top of which was video monitor that was disguised as a large oil painting. The face of model-handsome prince (actually an actor being filmed by closed-circuit camera) appeared on the monitor. I turned to face the audience and sighed, batting my thick eyelashes, as animated hearts danced around the face of the Prince. I smiled sweetly in Max's direction, and then spun around and bounded over to a makeup table, lit by giant light bulbs. I sat down, primped my hair, and applied a layer of pink lipstick. A magical, orchestral score started playing. I reached behind the makeup stand, retrieved a tiara and a pair of clear plastic slippers with six-inch Lucite heels, and put them on. The Prince winked at me, and I blushed and coyly smiled back. Although my hands were shaking a bit, I was able to skillfully apply kohl eyeliner, which was the hardest maneuver of the routine. With the eyeliner, my eyes took on a hungry, predatory cast. I straddled the stool and spun around, deviously smiling up at Max's window, introducing myself to him as Princess the stripper. With a flip of the hair, I looked back at the Prince, who was following me with his eyes, and did a seductive catwalk over to stage left. I started to sway in my satin dress, thrusting my ass toward the Prince as I had learned to do in cardio striptease so many months ago. I spun around to face the Prince, and, with a look over my shoulder, reached back and grabbed a hold of one end of the giant bow and pulled. The outer skirt detached and fell the floor, revealing my tiny ballerina skirt, garter belt, stockings, and wispy thong. As I bent forward I looked through my legs to see, reflected in the mirror, the ivory globes of my upturned ass ringed by the ruffled skirt. As I bent further forward, I could see the tiny transparent triangle of the thong emerge into view. I reached back between my legs and threaded the needle, holding my labia between my two fingers. Falling to the floor in a split, I pitched forward and began spreading myself through my panties, greedily enjoying the sensation. Then I pivoted around to face the audience and walked over the edge of the stage, just under Max's window. Looking ahead at the window I untied the large bow at the front of my dress, which detached the top half of the dress. Facing the audience, I flung it away, revealing my breasts, my rosy nipples barely covered by the ruffled neckline of my corset. I cradled them in my hands, rubbing the nipples as I luxuriated in the feeling. I had never been so turned on onstage. Marjam Ch. 01 One foot splayed out to the side, I leaned over to one knee, then brought the splayed foot underneath me. As the music rose to a crescendo I slowly rose to my feet. I did a pirouette, and untied the ballerina skirt, allowing it to spin off my body and sail across the stage. I started swaying my breasts, until the nipples popped out and were clearly on display. Oddly enough, we had never talked about how much I was supposed to take off. Amy and I had gone over other parts of the routine, but this part had been breezed over. I think she said, "Ok, so after you strip..." I decided that this was the height of the illusion. The transformation was complete. I was clad only in tiara, choker, corset, thong, stockings, and heels. My back tattoo was clearly visible, I had cleavage up to my chin, and my hot-pink nipples were proudly pointing out above the lacy ruffles of the corset. This is what I wanted to be for Max. I was still somewhat obscure, disguised, at the height of my preening glory. I felt untouchable, like a bride on her wedding night, offering herself to all as the most beautiful woman in the room, but promising herself to one man only. I teasingly backed up to one of the poles of the four-poster bed and rubbed it between the cheeks of my ass. I pulled myself up off my feet and straddled the pole, lying back and spinning around until I leaned my head all the way back and my hair touched the floor. I did my practiced pole dancing routine, but did it slower and nastier, perhaps because I was wetter than I had ever been when doing it, and I was desperately grinding my aching clit against the pole. The DJ started playing gangsta hip-hop. In full-on minx mode I crawled on all fours and opened the wardrobe underneath the prince. Inside was a single extra-large suit of formal prince clothes on a hanger. I reached into the pants and pulled out a big pink vibrating cock. As a fellated the toy, my the Prince in the monitor looked down at me in amazement and then smiled, and I could hear soft, guttural moans mixed in with the music. After a minute or so, I reached behind and untied the thong, throwing it to the side. As I rubbed my face against the vibe, I threaded the needle and spread the lips of my cunt, thrusting my ass up towards Max. I turned around on all fours and backed up against the vibe. Grabbing it by the base, I turned up the speed and pressed the head against my clit. I began to rock back and forth, simulating doggystyle. I was quivering with lust, and moaning in earnest. Looking up at the mirror, I could see the illusion of the giant, handsome prince fucking a tiny, insatiable slut. I could feel the orgasm welling up inside me. I teased my clit until I fell on the floor in a gasping, screaming orgasm. Then I pitched forward and crawled up onto the bed. I wanted to be as physically close to Max as I could. I felt as if I was about to lose my virginity to him, in this crazy and very public way. I lay on my back, at the edge of the bed, spread my legs, and fingered myself desperately. I let go of all inhibitions and let myself go, opening myself totally to Max, thrusting my pelvis to him wantonly. I cooed and moaned as I hurtled towards another climax. I had what could only be described as an out of body experience, so focused was I on my beautiful reflection writhing on the bed. Finally, I brought myself to a screaming orgasm. The audience erupted in applause. Even the bartenders were clapping and hooting. I hopped off the bed, looked up gratefully towards Max, and bowed deeply. As I walked offstage, I felt elated. I went to the dressing room, sat in the stool and gazed at my reflection, transfixed. I couldn't believe that I had just come twice in front of dozens of strangers. Moreover, in my flushed, relaxed state, I felt as if self-consciousness had fled. I removed my makeup, undid the corset, stripped completely, and showered. I emerged from the shower and stood in front of the full-length mirror. Max wouldn't recognize me if I showed him my ID. Even if he did recognize me, it wouldn't matter. I was transformed. It was as if the illusion had become so complete it was impenetrable even to me. Some moment onstage, I had stopped trying to hide behind my exhibitionist persona and became the persona. I had erased all traces of Amanda, the homely, embarrassed girl who the costume and makeup were supposed to obscure, and had reorganized my persona according my own unabashed desires. I felt that every naked part of me was sexy. The way I moved was sexy. It wasn't a narcissistic pride I was feeling, but more like a self-objectifying fascination with a discovery of something outside of myself. Amy entered the dressing room, looking extremely pleased. "Didn't I tell you? You were sensational!" She said. "That made me really hot and bothered. Made everyone else hot too. Especially room #2." She tossed me a key card. My heart leapt. "Get ready. I told them you'd be there in fifteen." "Wait! What should I wear?" I asked. "What should I do?" Amy smiled and gestured to the racks of clothes all around us. "Wear whatever makes your pussy wet. I mean it. What would make you feel sexy? How do you want to look?" "I want to look... sexy. Slutty. Adorable. Any of the above!" To be continued... Marjam Ch. 02 Note from the Author: You might want to start by reading part one if you haven't already, for important plot background. I stood outside VIP room number two at Maryam, Washington's most exclusive gentlemen's club. In a few moments the door would open and I would be giving a private show for my boyfriend, Max, who wasn't expecting me to be there and didn't even know I was working as a stripper. I doubted he would even recognize me. I was wearing a very tight silver lamé halter dress, elbow-length gloves and a glittery pink boa. The dress was very low cut with a floor-length slit skirt. I had nothing on underneath except a pair of silver fishnets and six-inch heels. The combination of the heels and long skirt made my legs look endless. The dress was flattering, hugging my relatively narrow waist and swelling over my hips and breasts. I wasn't used to going without a bra, and the dress was so tight and low that my breasts spilled out the top. My nipples were clearly visible through the painted-on material. I shifted one stockinged leg forward through the slit, swiped the key card, and opened the door. I didn't see anyone there except for two black men sitting at a bar. I recognized one of them as PT, a top NFL safety/tabloid sensation. His companion was a well-dressed, distinguished looking gentleman who looked to be in his fifties. There was no sign of Max. "Oh yeah, that's what I'm talking about!" PT exclaimed. "Come in and spend some time, baby, take your clothes off, get comfortable." "Oh, gosh…." I stammered, smiling apologetically and losing my sense of composure. "I'm really sorry, sir, there must be some mistake, I was expecting someone else…" The men laughed. "It's ok, darling," Said the older man, in nicotine-smooth baritone. "You were probably expecting Prince Charming, right?" I giggled nervously and blushed, slowly backing away. "In a manner of speaking. Look, I'm really sorry, guys…" "Wait!" Said the older man, as he walked to the door. I thought about closing the door and running, but I was too afraid. He stood in the doorway, and looked at me with warm, slightly weary eyes. "Please, let me apologize for my friend PT. He shouldn't have started up with the 'hey baby.' He has tremendous physical gifts, but he sorely lacks the social graces. I am his agent and his friend. I try to help him cope with the pressure of being one of the highest paid players in sports by getting him out every once in a while. He's really shy and is not good at talking to women…." "Not true, not true!" Exclaimed PT. "Do not listen to him. I got game on the field and off. Stone player. You'll realize that once you get to know me, baby." The older man glanced back and gave PT a disapproving look. "Will you let me have a word with the young lady, please, can I do that?" PT shrugged. "I'm trying to apologize for your rude behavior, can I do that?" The older man said, as he winked at me. "Don't even try." Said PT. "She too young for you." "An old man can dream, though, can't he?" He smiled. "Listen, young lady…we are just looking for some company and some conversation. We asked for you because my friend here loved your show and was quite taken with you. It would mean an awful lot to him if you'd give him a chance to show that he's not such a bad guy. By the way I'm Henry," he said extending his hand. "And I take it you know who PT is. What is your name…?" "Princess." I said, shaking his hand. "Of course you are." I looked around nervously. The VIP room was set up like a spacious boudoir, with a fully stocked bar along one side, a massive video screen on the other, and various lounge chairs, sofas, and recliners in between. The far wall was made entirely of glass, and gave a spectacular view of the stage. I realized that the reflection I saw in the one-way mirror was the same image they saw in this room, that they got to see the longing expressions, the teasing, and the masturbation scenes that had been meant for Max. It was too late to find Max, this much I knew. If he was even in the club, I didn't' know how I'd find him. The whole place was set up to give people their privacy. There was nothing left to do but go home, but I didn't think I would be able to simply walk away. The house would probably lose a lot of money. I wanted to leave, but I realized that the only way I was going to get to go home was if I could convince these men to let me go. "Please, sir, there's been a mistake…I'm really new at this. I'm not very good at this and I don't want you to be disappointed. I'm really sorry. Is it ok if you choose another girl?" "Well, I guess so…." Henry said, looking a bit confused. I stood there for a minute, feeling bad about disappointing these men, feeling like a fraud, and regretting I had come at all. "Listen, my dear. Would you join us for just one drink? We've already paid for your time and we liked the show so much we even paid a $2000 tip in advance. You don't look like the kind of person who really cares about the money, and I don't really care either, but I think the club would be happier if you came in for a minute. If you join us for one drink we could call it even…does that sound ok to you?" I smiled. "Ok," I said. We had a drink and I started to feel better about things. PT seemed a little shy around me, and he kept complementing me on my "moves." I realized, to my astonishment, that he was awkwardly trying to flirt with me. Despite his thuggish reputation, he seemed schoolboyish and harmless to me. Henry was a perfectly charming host, making me drinks and telling stories from his younger years. He had apparently had his heart broken quite a few times, although I sensed, beneath the self-deprecating humor, that he had broken a few hearts himself. He told me I reminded him of his greatest college crush. He described her as a pretty, vivacious blonde cheerleader who only dated football players. He told me that he began his career as a sports agent as a way to try and impress her, and ended up representing her future husband, an NFL quarterback. I realized that both men were attracted to me, to the tune of thousands of dollars. I was able to be for these men what I wanted to be for Max. They treated me as if I were the unattainable ideal, the Homecoming Queen who wouldn't talk to them in college, the sex goddess for whom they had to pay for the privilege of her company. I say this not to sound conceited. Believe me, I knew that outside of the world of sex clubs and VIP rooms I was just a short, plain girl whose clothes never fit her. That night, however, I felt sexy and flattered by the attention from a celebrity. I flirted shamelessly, and I was enjoying myself. Later Gayle, Henry's lady friend, joined us. She was a beautiful dark-skinned black woman who looked to be in her thirties. She exuded class, and warmed to me even though I looked like a tramp in my silver lamé dress. She seemed very comfortable hanging out with a stripper in a gentlemen's club, and I wondered if she hadn't done some of this work herself. The next show started, and the four of us sat together on a sofa that faced the stage. The view was spectacular. I blushed to think how close I must have been when I played with myself onstage. This show featured a petite but very sexy and powerful Asian woman who blindfolded and tied up a buff, dark haired man. As she teased and tortured him, I could feel the tension in our room start to mount. Gayle and Henry started making out in front of us, feeling each other up. I stole glances at PT, wondering if he was getting turned on too. He was a giant of a man: at least 6'5", 250, solid muscle. I wondered what he looked like naked. He caught my eye and smiled. "Do you like this?" I asked. "It's alright. You were better." "Really?" "Oh hell yeah." "What did you like about my performance?" "You just knew how to move. You got those curves, girl, and you know how to work them! I couldn't take my eyes off you. You the sexiest fucking girl here, period." I blushed a bit. "So why did you ask me here?" I asked with an impish smile. "Did you want to see a private show?" "Why?" He said with a grin. "You gonna give me one?" "Sir!" I said, giving him a playful shove. "I'm just here to have a drink!" "Well hows about a topless drink?" "PT where are your manners?" Henry exclaimed. "Excuse us, Princess." "Seriously, PT, don't you know how to treat a lady?" Said Gayle. "Sorry." Said PT. Then he turned to me and repeated his apology softly, with a slightly embarrassed look on his face. After the show, Henry and Gayle left, and I decided it time for me to go too. I thanked PT for the pleasure of his company and apologized for having to leave him alone. He turned to look directly in my eyes. "Yo, on the real, thanks for coming here, Princess." He said with a sweet smile. I leaned forward and kissed him. "PT, deep down I think you're a genuinely nice guy. Thanks for being you." "Sure." He said. "But before you go, can you just show me your titties?" "There you go again!" I said playfully. "Why'd you have to go and ruin the moment?" "Oops, my bad. See what happens when I go and open my big mouth." I was feeling happy, and a little tipsy at this point, and I was enjoying the power I seemed to have over this gentle giant. "I could, maybe, let you see a little more." I said. "Only if you promise to behave yourself" "Oh I promise." He said, smiling. "Show me them tits and I'll do anything you say baby." "Uh-uh. Not if you're gonna ask like that." "Please, babay, at least show me a little leg?" "If you want to see more, sir, then be a gentleman about it. Ask me nicely and I may just consider it." He laughed and got down on one knee. "Oh beautiful blonde baby girl, will you please do this man the honor of showing him those fine, fine legs that are God's gift to men." He said, with such disarming sincerity that I couldn't help but laugh. "Well, ok sir." I said. "I'll show you my legs, but you have to promise me something." "Anything." "No touching, understood?" "Understood!" He walked over to the bar, fixed a drink, and put on a hip-hop mix. I sat smiling nervously until he sat down sideways on a chaise across from me. Looking in his eyes, I took a sip of his drink and placed it on the table next to him, leaning in real close. I started to sway to the music. I had done the "leg show" may times in front of a crowd, but it felt really different to do a private show. Backing away from him, I lifted my skirt, exposing one leg up to the knee, and then the other leg. Then I lifted it a little higher, and a little higher still, until I was showing an expanse of leg that stretched from my towering glass slippers to above the tops of my fishnets, a creamy stretch of naked thigh that went all the way up to my crotch. I turned away from him and lifted up the skirt from behind, swaying and thrusting my ass out, showing off both legs at once. Slowly, I revealed more and more until I was giving him little flashes of my ass. Behind me I could feel his presence like a flame that burned hotter the closer I got. I backed up, lifting and thrusting and swaying to the music, until I was just an inch or two in front of his knee. Bending forward, I backed up over his leg, taking care not to let my exposed skin touch his thickly muscled thigh. I flapped the skirt behind me, giving him a peek-a-boo view of my ass. Then I did a little "ass dance" that I often did in the club, thrusting and bucking as if I was trying desperately to ask him to fuck me, and this were my only form of communication. I felt his fingers graze the back of my thigh. Pivoting, kicking my leg over his thigh, I turned to face him with smoldering eyes. "I'm sorry, baby!" He said with a mischievous grin. "It was an accident!" "Bullshit!" I said. I held his chin and leaned close to him, a little scared but fully in charge. "Touch me again and I'll call security!" "Alright." I stood over him, my tits practically in his face. "Mmm," I said cupping them. "My tits are so sensitive. If you promise to be a good boy I'll touch them for you. Do you promise to keep your hands to yourself?" "Yes, ma'am." I did a slow, nasty striptease. There wasn't really much to take off, just the dress, so I made the most of it. I spent a good amount of time peeling the top of the dress off and slowly, torturously wriggling out of it. I turned to face him, my naked tits bouncing as I moved to the music. I cupped them in my hands, lovingly lifting them up towards him, bending forward. I sat down next to him on the chaise, lay on top of his lap, and crossed by arms, pushing my tits against my chin and smiling at him coquettishly. Then I lay there on my back and engaged in a long, drawn-out bout of breast play. I shook them and jiggled them, scooping them in my hands. I pulled at my nipples circled them with my moistened fingers. I brought each nipple to my mouth, licking until they were achingly erect. They were so sensitive, and I was so turned on at this point, that any little touch sent chills throughout my body. I sat up and shook them from side to side. I bounced up and down on the chair, smiling sweetly as my tits bounced for him. I spread my legs wide, giving him an unobstructed view of my waxed pussy, which was glistening by now. As I cupped my breast and licked my nipple, I reached down and started to rub my cunt. I tried to avoid touching my swollen clit directly, but the pressure all around it built up a slow, yearning ache. I slid a finger inside myself, then two. He watched me as I played with myself. Flushed with desire, our eyes locked. As boyish and shy as he was, he was also a ripped and handsome giant of a young black man, and a famous physical specimen. Whether he knew it or not, he could probably have any girl he wanted. I couldn't believe that he wanted me, and that I was calling the shots. I sat on his lap, leaned close to him and looked at him through slit eyes, cupping my breasts. I felt drawn to him, as if by magnetism. I had forgotten all about Max by now. I wanted this man more than I had wanted anyone ever before. I would have attacked him if I had known what to do with him. I had never been with a man, and didn't yet know how to please by touch, but I knew how to give a lap dance. I cupped my breasts just inches from his face and licked my own nipples as I looked in his eyes, wanting him so much but unsure about how to proceed. Looking up pleadingly, I bent over him and swung my breasts right over his package, my nipples gently brushing his fly. I could feel the heat coming up from his engorged cock. I had never seen one before, and desperately felt that the time was ripe. "Sir, would you like me to…undress you?" I asked, flushed with shyness and lust. He smiled. "I don't know baby, you might have to touch me to do that." I giggled. "I know, and it's ok. I'm giving myself permission." "Oh really," he said, stony-faced. "And what if I said no?" "But you're not." I said, gingerly removing his cap. "Are you."? "Yes I am!" He said angrily. "Are you listening to me?" I felt a rush of disappointment. Hurt, I looked up at him but I could see nothing but disdain. I started to choke up. I felt like a complete and utter fool. I turned to go and he grabbed me around my waist and shoulders. I gasped and tried to push out of his grasp, but he effortlessly lifted me and folded me into his arms. I held on to him tightly, sobbing. "Shhh, don't cry now. Look, I didn't mean to snap at you, but you just weren't listening. You know I'm saying?" I couldn't answer him or even look at him. I just wanted to disappear. I couldn't tell him what I was really feeling, that I was crushed that he could have refused me, that the control I had over him turned out to be an illusion. I felt like I had gone from goddess to groupie in just a few short words. "Listen baby, I didn't mean to snap at you, but think about it. How would you react if I started taking your clothes off without asking you? I mean, damn, maybe I'm a little shy, baby, you ever think about that?" Now I felt like he was being disingenuous. I looked him in the eye, witheringly, through tears. He looked back guilelessly. I suddenly felt a little ashamed, but also relieved. Objectifying him as I objectified myself, I expected him gamely to play along as the big black sex-crazed stud. But maybe he was just a guy who got off on watching hot girls get naked. This totally fit with his personality, what I knew about him so far. "I'm sorry," I said softly. "I think I just overreacted." "You think?" That made me laugh. I apologized for killing the mood. He looked at me like I was crazy. "Killed the mood. Girl, you IS the mood! I mean, damn, you had me going back there!" "You liked that?" "Oh hell, yeah." "But that's not fair!" I said, laughing. "I want to see you naked too!" "I can do that," He said, doing a slow-jam dance. "See, the only reason I didn't want you to take off the clothes cause I wanted to take off the clothes for you, do a little peep-show strip-show, my very own Chippendales routine." He flung off his cap and took off his jacket, rotating his hips with a goofy look. He looked ridiculous. I was laughing my ass off. "Ok, ok, ok. I'm sorry for pre-empting your Chippendales routine!" I said. "Seriously, girl, it ain't that." He said sheepishly. "It's just that sometimes I like to be in control. I mean, I'm a paying customer, right?" "That's right." "And you be working for me just for this little while, right?" "Yes, that's right. You're right sir." "Alright then." He looked at me, with desire and longing. "Now get up here, baby girl, and sit on big daddy lap." I crawled onto his lap, and snuggled up against him, pressing my face against his chest, and looked up at him with my big brown eyes. I felt tiny and vulnerable curled up naked against him, but I also felt comfortable, protected. Encircling his tree trunk-like waist in my arms, I lifted my face to him. "Sir?" I asked meekly. "What would you like me to do?" He smiled widely. "Take my clothes off." "Yes sir!" I said, giggling. I unbuttoned his shirt and slid it off of his bull neck and massive shoulders. Then I climbed down and undid his belt, opened his fly, and took off his pants. He wore a tight pair of boxer-briefs under which his cock bulged unmissably, curling sideways over his hip. I folded his clothes and laid them down on a pool table and turned to him. He was lying on his back, regally awaiting my service. I walked over and crawled on top of him, and explored his granite-like chest with my tiny hands, tracing his chiseled contours. I'd never seen a man like this up close. He was a masterpiece, perfect, powerful, and equine. I wanted to see his cock so badly it hurt. I wanted to touch it, feast on it, impale myself on it, ride it. I wanted to make myself come while on top of him caressing his muscles. I wanted to do all those things, but I didn't now how. I looked at him imploringly. He grinned and stroked my hair affectionately then looked out through the one-way glass. "Look, show time!" He said, as he sat up and sat me down on his lap. I turned and saw that another show was about to go on. The curtain rose to reveal what looked like a high tech dungeon, with a four-foot tall chrome-barred cage in the middle of the floor, with a bank of large video screens forming a backdrop. A girl wearing only a collar was kneeling in the cage. She was a young, petite and pretty redhead. "Master!" She cried, imploringly. "Master! Your slut is waiting for you! Your slut wants you to punish her with your big cock! Please, Master, please use your slut!" Marjam Ch. 02 The DJ cued up some trance music and a tall, lithe, dark man in a leather jacket entered stage right. Behind him crawled a naked blonde with big, surgically enhanced breasts. She climbed on top of the cage and the man attached her by the elbows and knees to the chrome countertop by metal cuffs, so that she was facedown on all fours with her ass in the air. He proceeded to flog her and penetrate her with various metallic objects, at one point flipping her over to torture her tits. I spent most of my time transfixed on a monitor that carried a close-up view of the redhead. Every time the man approached the cage, she would thrust her head through the bars like a hungry bird, trying to take his cock in her mouth. As he worked on the blonde, she would stretch her neck and look up at him beseechingly, begging loudly for his cock. He would then slowly lean in, so she could rub her nose, cheeks, and lips against him. The camera caught the subtlety of communication between the two actors. As she rubbed her face against him, he would glance down giving little signals with his eyes, and she respond, either by slowing down and teasing or by attacking him more aggressively. Slowly, as he punished the blonde, he began to move in closer and closer, so the redhead was able to swirl her tongue around the head of his cock, and eventually lick down onto the shaft. Every time he gave her a little more of his cock, she thanked him vociferously. There was continuous eye contact back and forth between the two of them, and the looks they shared were often approving, even adoring. He was getting fantastically hard, and she began to take him inside her mouth with deep swallows. I could see her cheeks hollow as she sucked him, and then her tongue dart out, caressing his shaft as she released him. I watched with rapt attention, and I felt PT get harder and harder underneath me. He started to fondle my tits from behind, and between that and the show I was watching, I started to get really, really wet. I began to rub myself against him. Onstage, the redhead was deep throating her Master, sucking him for all she was worth, drawing the come out of his heavy balls. The chained blonde was writhing, face-up on the table, with nipple clamps and metal rings squeezing her big tits, as the man thrust a double-headed dildo into her ass and cunt. The redhead got down on all fours, thrusting her ass back toward the man, begging him for his cock. Then she played with herself while he fucked her ass, leaning in to lick the supine blonde's pussy. The redhead came, and as the blonde was starting to have her second orgasm, the man pulled out of the redhead, and she turned around and got back down on her knees so he could jerk off and come on her face. As the curtain closed I looked up at PT's impassive face, unable to hide the fact that I was flushed and horny. "Sir, what would you like me to do?" I asked. "Take off my drawers." "Yes please!" I exclaimed, a little too eagerly. "I mean, thank you sir!" I added, blushing. I bent over his lap. Taking the boxer-briefs by the waistband, I pulled them over his hard ass and massive thighs. Carefully, I stretched the elastic up over the tip of his cock, careful not to touch it. The head was the size of a plumb, a perfect monstrosity. Freed from its tight confines, his baton-like shaft just slid out from underneath the shorts coming to rest perfectly upturned on his belly. I pulled the shorts down his legs and off over his ankles. Timidly, I knelt at his feet. His balls, now hanging between his legs in plain view, looked incongruously small next to his erect cock. The few dicks I had seen previously in the flesh had been limp, and had belonged to teenage boys. I remembered them to be smaller than the scrotums. These balls looked meaty and substantial, but their sack seemed like it was drawn tight around the thick base of his shaft, and looked merely subsidiary to its ostentatious delivery system. The flesh of his scrotum was a burnt chocolate color, almost black. The shaft itself was also very dark at the base, although the huge vein underneath was redder in color. Halfway up, the shaft flared out and took on a richer, ebony hue. It was ringed by several coal-black folds of skin about three quarters of the way up, and revealed an inch of smooth, milk-chocolaty skin just beneath the lighter crown and bulbous purple-brown head. The skin of his cock was taut, swollen, and every square millimeter seemed to pulse with hot-blooded yearning. It's state looked something like the state of my clit, but it was hard to compare my hidden, jewel-like nub to his truncheon-like appendage. Seeing it made me understand why flashing was so invasive to its victims, because the sight of it was so all-consuming. Even forewarned, I was shocked by its presence, and felt implicated by it. In its primed state, the man's cock just flooded my senses, and seemed to charge the negative space around it. No matter where I looked it remained the focus of my undivided attention. In the state of arousal in which I found myself, as attracted to this man as I was, I was hopelessly drawn to it. I looked up at him questioningly, hoping to receive some guidance. Like the rest of him, his cock, by virtue of its power and girth, just didn't seem made for a girl of my size and inexperience. He just smiled at me. "Sir," I asked meekly "may I touch it?" "Yes, you can. But only with your face." I gulped. "Ok." I said, I felt a little unsure of what he wanted me to do, and what I would be able to do. I would have loved nothing better than to indulge my curiosity by just exploring his cock. Feeling inspired, I turned my examination into a little display of cock-worship. Smiling, I gazed at it in animated wonderment as I leaned in towards it. The heat I had felt emanating from increased as I closed the distance to less than an inch. My face felt exposed and excruciatingly sensitive to its attractive power. I looked up at him with puppy-dog eyes and gently brushed my cheek against his penis. I was surprised at how soft the skin felt as I brought more and more of my face in contact with the organ, savoring its texture. This was a new kind of exhibitionism for me. It was product placement. I made his black cock look powerful and it made me look sexy. I could tell he was enjoying watching me rub my milky young face, kittenlike, against his turgid, brutal-looking sex organ. In a breathy whisper, I asked him if I could kiss his cock and he nodded. I pursed my lips, making my mouth look tiny, and brushed them against his cock. Slowly, I covered every square inch with soft, butterfly kisses while I blew on it between my lips. I widened my mouth only slightly and rubbed my lips up and down the sides of his shaft. He tasted like sweat, slightly bitter, but the warm meaty girth of his cock was irresistible to me. I wanted to taste more of him. As my mouth passed over the sides of his shaft, I flicked the tip of my tongue against him. I began to lick up and down, with tiny little licks. I could feel his cock expand, and the little folds at the end were stretched tightly now. "Don't stop, that feels amazing." He said. "Yes sir." I said "I mean, no sir I won't." I licked his cock up and down like a popsicle, looking up at him and smiling girlishly. He began talking dirty to me, at one point tenderly calling me his slut as if that were the sweetest term of endearment. I think I must have given him a shocked expression when he called me called me that, because I had never thought of myself as a slut. I wanted to be his slut, though, and it turned me on when he called me that, so I tried to act the slut, licking and hungrily slurping his cock up and down. I would constantly look up at him, and he would look down at me approvingly, all the while talking dirty to me. I asked him if I could touch it with my hands. He asked me to beg, and you had better believe I begged. I cautiously encircled it in my hand, and began stroking my first cock. It felt like buttery young leather pulled taut over a shaft of soft coal. I lifted it in both hands, savoring its meaty heft. I gently ran my fingers up and down its length looking up at him in depraved adoration. I was beside myself. I could clearly see my reflection in the mirror, straddling my muscular giant of a man, holding his incredible cock in both hands. "Sir," I said. "Your cock is so beautiful." "Do you like it, baby?" "I love it!" "Then stroke it like a good girl," I began to stroke it up and down, caressing and looking tenderly into his eyes. I wanted him to take me. My eyes said as much. Our mutual coyness had gone. I desperately wanted to belong to him. I wanted him to make me his bitch. Stroking him, I crawled on top of him and softly kissed his lips. He lay there impassively and allowed me to continue, without responding, and I passionately continued to kiss him. Suddenly, he took my hair in his hands and gave me a rough, deep tongued kiss, and then pushed my head down so I could lick his nipples. Absently stroking his cock, I gently kissed and licked his nipples, making them erect. He then pushed me down so that I slowly kissed his washboard stomach. I kissed and licked all around the line between his pelvis and stomach, an then all over his thighs, until he guided my lips right up to the head of his cock. Looking up at him sweetly, I jerked him off while I kissed the tip of his cock, begging him to let me suck it. "Go ahead." He said. I brought it to my mouth and opened, wide. I could just barely get the head inside before I started to gag, and choke. I looked up at him apologetically and tried to take him in my mouth again, but I felt myself about to gag again. I tried a third time, trying desperately to ignore my gag reflex, but had to pull out because I couldn't breath. "What's wrong?" He asked "Umm, I'm sorry, it's just that you're really big…" He laughed. "You haven't done this much, have you." "No sir, I haven't." I said, with my eyes downcast. "But even if I did, I get the feeling you would be a challenge." He laughed again. "No way." He said. "I ain't trying to hear that. It is most definitely possible, you just need practice, that's all. Stay with me and I'll give you all the practice you need." I stood up and bent over to kiss him. Instead, he spun me around and sat me down in his lap. Whispering in my ear, he started describing all the sexual adventures he wanted to have with me, telling me all the things he wanted to teach me. He told me that he wanted to make me his blowjob queen. He wanted me to service other men until I could deep throat any cock. He started to fondle my tits from behind, and between that, the dirty talk, and the feeling of his hot breath against my ear, my pussy started aching for release. I began to rub myself against his thigh. He told me how he was going to teach me to talk dirty, making me give anonymous phone sex to strangers until I could make them come with my voice alone. I arched my back, rubbing my ass against his cock. Placing it in the cleft between my ass cheeks, I wiggled against him. He told me how he was going to take my virgin cunt and ass, and stretch and mold them to the shape of his cock. He lay back a bit and moved me so I was sitting on his hard, heaving abdomen. His brown cock curled up between my ivory legs obscenely, resting on my stomach. I held his cock in my hands and rubbed my smooth, dripping pussy against it. He told me how he was going to make me his bitch, how he'd tie me up and punish me and beat me and share me with his friends. I arched my back and guided my pussy to the head of his cock. Rubbing it against my slit, trying to work it inside of me, I realized it was useless to try to take him inside of me. He was simply too big. Desperately, I rubbed my gushing cunt up and down the length of his cock, tits bouncing, moaning like a porn star, gasping out "thank you, sir, oh thank you thank you thank you master…" He told me how he was going to dress me up, make his maid, his slave, his whore, his little girl. I looked so tiny on top of him, and my pink little pussy looked woefully inadequate to the task of receiving the monster dick. In my lust-crazed state I could do little but continue to rub myself greedily against it. My engorged clit slid across against his veiny shaft, and against the ridge of his crown, bringing me to the brink. Just as I was about to come, PT rubbed my clit with his huge, but surprisingly dexterous hand, sending me spinning into oblivion. I had never screamed so loudly, and I scared myself with my orgasmic fury. I wanted, more than I've ever wanted anything in my life, to make this man come for me. I looked into his eyes and begged him to fuck me, hard. I told him I didn't care how much it hurt. I just wanted him to be inside of me. "Please, sir." I begged him. "I'll do anything for you, anything. Just tell me what you want and I'll do it." "I want to fuck those tits." He said. "Yes sir!" Biting my lip, knelt between his legs, cupped my tits in my hands and pushed them around his glistening cock. I sandwiched it between my tits and pressed them together. I started trying to side them up and down over his shaft, but it wouldn't stay there. I realized that even though my tits looked enormous on my small body, that they weren't actually that big in real terms. Even though I could get the tip of his cock between them, the shaft was too big and his whole cock would pop out if he tried to fuck my tits. After several tries, however, I was able to lean in and arch my back so that the base of his cock was pressed against my sternum, so I could gather my soft tits together to capture the lower half of his shaft, while the tip angled up towards my face. In this position, I was able to knead my tits gently around his cock. I looked in his eyes, and playfully worked my tits around his massive cock. I found that by lifting and dropping them while squeezing them together, I was able to push them up and down on his cock, fucking him with my tits. Gradually, I started to move my whole body up and down while keeping his cock trapped between my tits as it slid through my cleavage. As he started to thrust his cock to meet my bouncing breasts, we built up a rhythm, and soon he was full-on fucking my tits. I could feel his cockhead swell as his crown emerged from my cleavage to rub against my face. I could see in his eyes how much he loved the look of his enormous cock defiling a girl with the face of an innocent 15-year-old and the tits of a porn star. I played it up, smiling and giggling like a schoolgirl, giving him sweet little kisses on his cock. "Please sir," I said. "fuck my big tits!" I began lapping at his cock head. As I got more worked up I was able to open my mouth wide enough to take the entire head of his cock in my mouth. I sucked hard, sucking in my cheeks around his cockhead as he grabbed me by the hair and fucked my mouth while he fucked my tits. I felt as if my entire self was wrapped around his phallus. I could see drops of precome flinging off of his cock. I squinted, expecting him to ejaculate any minute, but having no idea what to expect. Just as I thought he was about to come, he withdrew his cock from between my tits and told me he was going to come in my face. I watched the bobbing slit at the tip of his cock in rapt attention as he jerked off in my face and verbally abused me. "Who's my little bitch?" He demanded. "I am, sir." I replied without thinking, transfixed on his impending orgasm. "Please make me your bitch." I added. "And who's my little cockwhore?" He asked. "I'm your cockwhore. "I said "Who's my little white comeslut?" "I'm your little white comeslut, sir. Please come on my face!" I begged. I hadn't even got all my words out when he shot out a hot, teaspoon-sized globule of come onto my cheek just below my eye. Swooning, I stared, my eyes slightly crossed, enraptured. I was expecting something more like a steady stream, like when boys pee, but instead he kept coming in pulses, coming with less and less pressure and volume until he squeezed out the last couple of droplets. I looked up at him in stunned silence. I felt affronted, aroused, degraded and triumphant. He smiled widely and let out a whoop of pleasure. "Goddamn you hot." He said. "You a natural." He cupped my chin and I beamed up at him. "Go on, get yourself cleaned up." My mind raced as I showered in the adjoining bathroom, trying to process what had just happened. Not only had I just come close to losing my virginity to a total stranger, the stranger was a celebrity, an African American, and a jock. I was even more surprised at my own actions than by the circumstances I found myself in. This may sound disingenuous, but despite the stripping I still had had a prudish view of myself. Far from being a slut, I thought of myself as monogamous. Because I was trying to have a long-distance relationship with Max, I was resigned to remaining a virgin for some time. I had never thought of having sex with anybody else. I was hoping that Max, the first man who ever really showed any interest in me, would eventually decide to sleep with me. I had been stripping in order to feel that I could be, in some sense, desirable to men, in order to remain confident that I would still be desirable to Max. I did not expect that it would unleash the raging nymphomania it was about to unleash. At that very moment I was torn between wanting to leave all of this behind, and wanting to try everything PT had whispered in my ear when I was coming. Was I about to enter into some kind of dominant/submissive relationship in which he made me his "bitch" to punish and to share? To my own amazement, I wanted this, or I at least wanted him to want me as his bitch. But I wasn't at all sure I could go through with it. After all, I had little or no sexual experience before tonight. I loved the idea of having sex with lots and lots of men. But I was deathly afraid of the actual sex. I had never had sex before, and had no idea what it would feel like. I knew that I loved being talked dirty to, however, and that I loved being PT's bitch. Was he serious about wanting me? When I emerged from the shower he had left. My clothes had been neatly folded and placed on a tabletop. I dressed and returned to the dressing room, feeling relieved and vaguely disappointed. I ran into Amy backstage. "PT looked happy." She said. "And he left you a $10,000 tip. You may have just had our best debut night ever. Congratulations." "Thanks," I said. "But I'm a little confused…I thought I was going to be entertaining some young Asian Prince or something…" "Oh, right, I had forgotten." She said. "We had to switch the room at the last minute. Ms. Winters requested #2, so had to move the bachelor party." "Ms. Winters? Who is Ms. Winters?" "You met her tonight! She seemed quite taken with you." "You mean Gayle?" I asked, incredulously. "Wow, first name basis…" "Who is she?" "Well, do you remember the 'Washington Madam' who was at the center of all those political scandals, oh, about three years ago?" "Of course, what's her name, Josie something…" "She worked for Ms. Winters. Ms Winters is the real Washington Madam. She could probably bring down the entire US Government if she wanted." "What was PT doing there?" "PT? He's here quite a lot." "And who was the other guy?" "Mr. Powell is one of the most notorious gangsters on the east coast. He manages PT and works closely with Ms. Winters. Hell of a nice guy, but you would not want to cross him." Amy sent me off with $17,000 in cash and an open invitation to perform at Maryam again. My legs were shaking as I walked back to my hotel. I was glad to be getting out of there unscathed, and my mind kept playing out various scenarios where thing could have turned much worse for me. At the same time, I couldn't help feeling a little disappointed that PT was not the innocent he seemed. I couldn't believe how naïve I had been. I should have known it wasn't his first time at Maryam. At the same time, I could easily imagine that we shared something in common, that we had each undergone the transformation from wren to peacock. If I still felt like a plain girl inside, I also knew I that events had allowed me to play the petite, Scandinavian teenage ice-queen. I knew how I looked with PT, and how we brought out each others' sex appeal. I had never had a particular inclination towards penis size, and had never had an interracial fetish of any kind. But I could no longer deny the erotic power of those classic, clichéd sex fantasies. And if I still felt like a shy honor student, I also knew that tonight had unleashed my inner exhibitionist and nymphomaniac. All I could think about is what he had said to me, how he had promised to show me off and share me and make me his bitch. It had thrilled me, had made me come like could never have imagined I could have, and had brought out so many new desires. With him I felt delicate and vulnerable, but also hyper-feminine and sexual. No, I wasn't disappointed that he was actually the player and thug he appeared to be. I was more intrigued than ever. Marjam Ch. 02 When I returned to my room, I my heart leapt to find an arrangement of six dozen long-stemmed red roses had already been delivered. The first of many.