6 comments/ 20049 views/ 6 favorites A Discreet Distance By: Texienne I pulled another mouthful from my Guinness and tried to concentrate on the paperback in front of me. The story was getting good, but how does a healthy straight male concentrate on Clancy with a gorgeous twenty-three-year-old nude doing her laundry in the next room? Ronni's tits and bright smile popped out of the laundry room. "Brent? Are we out of bleach?" She owned some real beauties too, genuine works of art, slightly uptilted with deep red areolas topping creamy skin encasing firm and ample flesh. Maybe they weren't as big as those of a centerfold, but they were for damn sure as pretty. "Brent?" She singsonged with a smile, stroking strawberry-blond locks out of her face. I scowled and shook my head to clear it. "Yeah, I used it up yesterday. I put it on the shopping list." Her nose wrinkled up and she did a little frustrated up and down bounce that did bad things to my moral fiber. "I needed it for the next load. Guess I can run down to the store." "Nah, I'll do it." It'll get my mind off your tits! I fished for my keys and slapped to make sure my wallet was there. "Thanks! You're a pal!" I'm a blueballed sucker, I retorted silently as I escaped Nude Hell. You knew damned well that jiggle would break down any possible resistance. I could have tolerated a closet nudist as a roommate if she were a dumpy plain broad in her thirties. I'm good at ignoring the unpleasant. Ronni didn't fit any part of that description. She surely knew it too. She had to know why she got all those tips while slinging beer and hot wings, and why cars slowed down while passing her. All girls built that nicely know. The woman at the supermarket checkout scowled at me until I realized my eyes had been working as hard as a teenager's to deconstruct her uniform and get at the goodies beneath. I escaped the store in considerable embarrassment. Look, I never try to hide the fact that I like female bodies. Thing is, at my age I'm supposed to know how to do it in a more decent, appreciative manner, so that those who don't mind can enjoy the attention rather than be annoyed. The girls who do mind can go to hell, but I had no idea on which side of that line the cashier was, since any woman who wasn't working at a titty bar at the moment would surely object to the stare she was getting. Living with Ronni was totally screwing up my ability to interact with women normally. And that, to my mind, was my actual problem. Ronni brazenly fucked with my mind daily, and it was beginning to influence me no matter where I went. I had tits on the brain like a fourteen-year-old boy. When she first moved in, she'd acted completely normal. She made it clear she had no intention of being anything more than my room-mate. We set down strict rules of behavior, and I thought that was that. Two months later, she took a naked stroll through the house, just casually looking for some misplaced item. Why? "I just felt like it. I like being without clothes but I don't have the guts to go to a nudist club with a bunch of strangers. It's okay here at home, 'cause I know you now." I thought she might have been coming on to me, but she clarified that quickly when I tested the theory. "Keep a normal, discreet distance, Brent. I like you, and you have permission to go right ahead and enjoy the view, but I do not want to have sex with you." Then don't hand out raging hard-ons, dammit! I drove home in as bad a mood as I'd been in when I left. When I entered the house with my grocery bags, she was standing in the middle of the living room next to the stripper pole, and she was still completely naked except for earrings and navel jewelry. She'd shaved recently too, I noted. She looked slightly damp... had she been using that thing? I had bought it and an instruction DVD three weeks prior as an attempted counterattack to her nude romps. The first time she saw it, I told her that if she insisted on behaving like a stripper, then she needed a pole. It was nice one, too, with bearings to allow it to spin and everything. I paid three hundred for it. It was a total failure, of course. She wasn't offended or embarrassed in the least. In fact she smiled and thanked me. The exact same sunny, innocent smile she wore now as she came up to take the bag with the bleach. "Hi!" She greeted me brightly. "Thanks!" As she sashayed away, her equally luscious rump now enticing me-- compact, but round and equally firm-- she added, "Don't forget to put the receipt in the box." Meaning the metal box where we kept household receipts marked with who paid for them. We totaled them up at the end of the month and whoever paid less paid half the difference to the other. I went to put the groceries away and returned to the kitchen table and my Clancy novel, wondering if my Guinness had gone flat. An experimental sip told me it was tolerable. The washing machine started up and she reappeared, now standing in the kitchen, getting a glass from the cupboard. Do women have any idea how sexy they are when they're nude in the kitchen? It's like man's two greatest desires wrapped up in one beautiful package. Fuck me while I make your dinner, darling! While she pulled the filter pitcher out and poured a glass of water, she asked. "Brent, I'm thinking the carpet in the living room needs vacuuming. Will it bother you?" Hell, yeah it'll bother me! "Go ahead." I had hardwood floors, but I had an oriental rug in the half of the oversized living room where I actually had furniture. It was under a heavy coffee table and too big to easily haul out and beat, so we used a vacuum cleaner on it. The kitchen table sat in a nook that extended from the living room, so I would have a full view of the action. She flashed her bright smile and went to haul out the vacuum. I struggled vainly to get my mind back into the book, but once she turned it on, her body swaying back and forth in front of me, it was a lost cause. Within moments, I once again had an alert crewman on duty and coming to attention. I sighed, put the book down, took a drink of my beer and decided, what the hell, I'll just watch the show. Of course I'd tried this before, hoping it would make her uncomfortable enough to go put something on. It seemed to encourage her instead. She smiled at me and kept going about her business. But since I couldn't read anyway, why not? Forgetting about how bothersome it was, I could sit back and just appreciate her. In the final analysis, she was simply a thing of beauty. With her clothes on, she didn't seem terribly remarkable, but that was because she wore frumpy clothes and rarely wore make-up. It kept her from standing out. I figured this out once I saw her on the job, where she painted herself up just like any other girl on staff and transformed from unremarkable to unbelievable. I had never really thought before about how much our eyes are trained to expect cosmetics as part of the woman. We don't know what a beautiful woman looks like without it, so Ronni looked 'plain.' Her body had no need of enhancement, by cosmetics or anything else. She had a strong way of moving, but not like a guy. More like a gymnast. Everything about her seemed to start from this core within her flat tummy and flow out from there, spreading gently down into medium hips and thighs that tapered into dancer's legs, strong but feminine. Upwards that core flared into a taut chest and regal shoulders, with those gorgeous globes somehow blending perfectly with athletic arms. Top that with a completely uncomplicated smile and red-gold ringlets of hair cascading everywhere, and Ronni became nothing short of spectacular. After a few moments, she noticed me watching and smiled. She also added a little extra sway to her moves. Because of the location of the electric socket, she ended up with the cord around the stripper pole, which would have leave her unable to reach the remained of the carpet. Normally, she would just pick the vacuum up and walk around it, but this time she grabbed the pole, lifted herself one-handed carrying the vacuum, and did a lazy circle just like in a titty bar. She dropped back down after one turn, having now successfully routed the cord to the other side of the pole. I sputtered Guinness through my nose. The hell? That looked as if she'd been practicing... I shouted, "Have you been using that thing?" So she didn't have to shout, she turned the vacuum off, then gave me a impish grin. "I watched that DVD and tried it out. It's fun, actually." The vacuum went back on and she continued, her lovely rear continuing to dance for me and her tits swaying with the motion. My cock fought to rip seams out of the crotch of my jeans. It was actually starting to hurt. Only my stubborn determination not to let her force me into permanent hiding in my bedroom kept me from fleeing. Those beautiful, nearly cellulite-free cheeks kept beckoning me and persuading me, and the pain kept getting worse. Unable to stand it anymore, I undid my belt and fly. Just getting the thing free hurt, but finally it stood tall, nine inches of pure man ready for action. Of which there was none to be had in this room, of course. Still, I could relax and sigh in relief. I couldn't leave it out like this, though. I had to figure out something before she looked... Naturally, she spotted it at once. Her sparkling eyes gave my proud crewman an approving gaze. She raised a thumb and shouted, "Nice!" Her attention went back to working around the end of the couch, the last bit of the job. Her simple smiling appraisal hadn't helped one bit, of course. Made things worse, really. After switching off the vacuum, she stooped to reel the cord up, facing me with her tits swinging tauntingly to the motion. I watched the display, in my opinion one of the sexiest positions a woman can assume, and something just clicked inside me. "Fuck it," I said, and started stroking as I watched. She looked up to the sound of my voice and saw what I was doing. A slightly mysterious smile formed on her bow-shaped lips, a mix of her normal pleasure at my watching her and something else. Since it seemed like a question somehow, I answered, "If you're going to insist on giving me hard-ons and blue balls, I'll just go ahead and jack off when you do it. That okay with you?" This was it, I told myself. I had found the thing that would be too much for her. She had to finally give up and finally start behaving with more modesty now. At least wear underwear or something... "Sure," she chirped simply, looking honestly charmed by the man who wanted to masturbate while watching her. She continued reeling up the cord and unplugged the vacuum, then added with a twinkle, "Let me know if there's anything I can do to help." Starting to get into it, with my pulse rate rising and my breath unsteady, I answered, "You fucking well know there's something you can do to help!" What I meant was You can wear clothes! but she took it a different way. "Brent, I mean anything that I can do from a discreet distance. Remember my rule." After a moment, something did occur to me. "Show me what you learned on that pole." Her eyes flicked over to it, then she grew a delighted grin and practically skipped over to the stereo. To my surprise, one of my Cars albums was already in the CD player. Reaching down beside the cabinet, she extracted a pair of clear plastic stilettos which she quickly slipped on. She began strutting around to 'Let's Go', a song as old as I am, and way older than her. She was really doing it justice, too. When she grabbed onto that pole, it turned magical. She whirled and backed into it, ass facing me, pressed into the pole. Her hips rocked, slinking up and down as she did knee bends. Spinning on the ball of her foot, she faced me, pole between her tits and her slender hands stroked it sensuously, as if she were jacking it off. She ended that with a stroke of her tongue, then began turning around it gracefully, reversing hands and direction from time to time, using different steps and moves to vary how she moved. This ended with her pressed against the pole, both hands gripping it above her head, as her eyes fixed on me in a bold, seductive gaze. My hand increased to full speed. Once she began moving again, she leaned backward slowly and fluidly, her foot slipping out as her hand slid down the pole and she arched her back. Her hair pooled gracefully on the floor, then her head touched. She slipped onto her back from there, taking a moment then to do a couple ripples of her abs and pelvic thrusts. Her lips parted and her face tightened as she did this, making her look for all the world like an invisible lover was thrusting into her as she laid there. I was stroking at the same rhythm, imagining being that lover for her. She rolled sideways so she could run the toe of her shoe up the pole as she raised her leg. I watched that beautiful gate open up and jerked while the tongue in my mind slid down that leg to find the treasure. She then grasped the pole and with catlike motions hand-over-handed her way up it until she was on her feet once more, then kept climbing, pulling herself several feet off the floor. My living room has a vaulted ceiling, so she had a full twelve feet to work with. After a spiral back down with her breast crushed against the pole, she repeated the backward lean and slide down the pole, but starting with her back toward me this time, so that I watched those beautiful breasts appear over the top as she arched her back. Once she'd repeated the simulated sex, she spun around on her butt and I was staring right into a mouthwatering, spread-legged view of her smooth-shaven sex with one leg hooked on the pole and her back on the floor, as if she were waiting for me to take her. I was a millimeter away from acting on it when I realized she was waiting for the next song to start. "Since I held you" began, and she slowly pulled herself up, staring straight at me the entire time with come-on eyes of a power level I've never encountered anywhere outside a gentleman's club. Once up on her feet again she went into a hip-rocking sway and occasionally threw in another pole move, but she seemed mostly interested in just displaying herself and dancing at this point. By that time I didn't give a damn. My crewman was prepared to do his duty and the cannon was locked and loaded. The temptress gaze stayed fixed on me until I came, when it dissolved into a look of almost childlike delight at what she'd accomplished. As I recovered to the tune "It's all I can do", she stood leaning against the pole, one arm gripping it over her head and the other toying with her hair. She gave me a playful smile and bit her lower lip. "How'd I do?" "You did very, very well," I assured her, my pulse rate still pounding and my breath still ragged. I wondered what I should do about the mess but before I could decide, she was already headed to the kitchen. Those exquisite hips again passed within mere feet of me. After returning with the paper towels and handing them over, she leaned on the side-chair opposite me and watched me clean up. "You learned all that in three weeks? Just from a DVD?" I needed to put things away, so to speak, but I was too amazed with what she had just done to worry about it. I was also starting to harden up again, seeing those very moist lovelies hanging just a few feet away. "That was all just basic stuff. There's a lot I can't do yet. The butterfly, the inverted stuff..." She leaned across to take the roll back and collect the soiled towels. The way she handled my cum without hesitation was strangely erotic. Did she just not care about what was on the towels, or was she purposefully continuing the titillation? "I've been practicing every day while you're at work. I figured if you spent that much money on me, I oughta use it. I actually completed the DVD in a week, then I found a school that teaches it. I've taken five lessons so far. The instructor says I'm a fast learner. All that ballet I did is probably helping." She giggled as she tossed the soiled towels in the trash. "She says I should consider a change of careers." I nodded, "She's right. You're good. I hear it pays a lot better than a sports bar, too." She smirked, clearly not able to take the idea seriously. Well, I suppose most girls wouldn't. "How'd you end up with the Cars? Kind of before your time." "My instructor gave me a list of albums, stuff she had in the studio, so I could pick one and buy a home copy. I recognized the title from your collection." After setting the towels back in their place, she sailed past me again, grabbing the vacuum to carry it back to the hall closet. Then she paused and gave me a very honest, frank look. "Brent? Next time you jack off, get naked for me, okay? I would like that. Plus you won't mess up your clothes." And thus, yet another of my attempts to change her strange household habit went badly awry. She left for work soon after. Her job ran four to close Wednesday through Sunday . I spent my Saturday evening in relative peace, watching some half-assed basketball on TV as performed by our sorry excuse for a franchise. I piddled around on the web after that, until she came home. One of the cooks had a thing for her, so as usual a takeout box chock full of leftover hot wings slid onto the coffee table. She kicked off her shoes and collapsed with her head ending up next to the computer desk looking up at me, strawberry-blond curls draped over the arm of the couch.. A finger hooked some of it behind her ear, and her voice took on a flirty tone. "I wanted to dance again when I got home... but I'm beat, sorry. Forgot it was Saturday night." I looked over at her and twisted my lip, trying to find some way to figure out what was going on behind those hazel eyes. "You really enjoyed that, didn't you?" "Well yeah," she answered. She stretched her arms upward lacing her fingers together above her and held the pose for a few seconds. After release, she added. "It really is a blast. It's like a mixture of ballet, clubbing and climbing around on a jungle gym. Makes me feel like a kid." Not exactly what I meant. "Mm. I meant having a guy watching you and jacking off." She considered me for a second, then said, "Yeah. It's a compliment, if you think about it, you know? Besides, I saw you enjoy something for a change. You're always scowling." I guess the whole thing relocated me to a completely different moral standard. The next thing that came out of my mouth was something I never would have said to a woman before that moment. "I wish I could do something to make you masturbate. I would love to return the favor somehow." "You just want to see me masturbate," she decided with a smirk. "Guys love watching us do that, right?" Honesty being the best policy, I answered, "It's true. I would absolutely love to watch you masturbate." That would have pretty much ended the conversation, one would think. Instead, she gazed at me steadily for several seconds, contemplating. Then she pointed her finger at my easy chair across the room and said, "We're too close. Discreet distance rule. Over there." That caught me completely off-guard. Too surprised to do anything else, I stood and obeyed. Before I made it, she added, "Wait. Put on some music." "Cars again?" She giggled. "No, that's my dancing music. Pick out something you'd like for this." I put on Jon Hopkins Opalescence. It just seemed like good music to make love to. She closed her eyes as the slow dreamy synthesizer sounds began and her fingertips drew lazy circles on her "Max's Sports Bar & Grill" tank top. When the jazz beat kicked in, she grew an indulgent smile and tipped her head back. A Discreet Distance Fingers explored the soft contours of shoulders, ribcage and waist, ascended to lightly massage her breasts . Her lips slightly parted as she wandered off into some dream world by herself. The music certainly traveled with her; I could see the tempo in her movements and her breath. Her hands drifted downward once again, her fingertips spreading to massage her tummy, slowly working her top up enough to slip under. Her hips began moving as well, squirming sensuously in time with the rest. Her hands finally went separate directions. The left drifted slowly to her breast, dragging her top up to expose her navel. She had changed jewelry before going out; a crystal heart dangle now decorated her tummy. Her right slipped down, undoing her shorts. She opened her legs just slightly to give her fingers access within. I don't know how long she stayed like in that pose, just fingering in tiny motions, only that it didn't seem to matter much. She seemed to have hypnotized herself or sunk into a dream. For a while I began to wonder if she were actually on her way to falling asleep, but the next track started up, and she began swaying gently, still moving her finger in tiny circles. Once the typical long Hopkins intro finished and the beat took hold again, she came awake. She inhaled a long shuddering breath and pulled herself into a fetal position, pulling off her shorts and dropping them to the side. I had always been able to see when she came home with her work clothes on that she wore no bra under them, so I was unsurprised to discover she wore no panties either. She spread her legs wide, letting me see her sex clearly, now aroused and swollen. Her body began rippling to the beat, legs, hips and chest alternately rising and falling in a sexual rhythm. Pulling her top up over her breasts gave her better access. The flat, maidenly coins that normally tempted me had become hard cones, which she now milked and kneaded as she writhed erotically. Two fingers of her right hand, now slick and moist, began curling their way into her and her thumb began rubbing her clit. Her breath deepened and quickened, and began to include her voice, a soft cry somewhere between a whimper and a moan. Her skin glistened with perspiration, making her toned physique just that much more enticing. Then she raised her head again, opened her eyes and looked right at me, her mouth now open in a lusty petition. I was stiff and horny and ached to go to her and slide my cock right between those begging lips, but the words, 'discreet distance rule', somehow stayed in my ears. I stayed put. I went ahead and got it out though, relieving a pained crotch I had almost not noticed because of the show she was giving me. She smiled and stopped long enough to suck her fingers clean and pull her top the rest of the way off. She resumed, switching hands, and whispered, "Take 'em off!" I complied, undressing and beginning my own self-loving as I watched her work her hips more energetically. She watched me, biting her lower lip and smiling, clearly as happy to see me doing it as I was to see her. She occasionally licked her upper lip, or squinted as she felt some particularly good sensation. Then she would returned to the same expression after flashing a seductive grin. She continued like that until her brow furrowed and her expression changed, becoming rigid and open mouthed. Her whole body shuddered and reared up, supported only by her feet and her shoulders, beads of sweat now visible rolling down her skin. After what seemed like forever just shaking with her back arched, she collapsed with a powerful gasp. She fell sideways to lie across the couch., her tits heaving with the effort to regain her breath. I kept stroking, transfixed as I witnessed the metamorphosis from orgasm to afterglow. I'd never had the opportunity to just watch a girl in that state. I wasn't precisely sure I had ever seen one orgasm so spectacularly, although to be honest, I'd usually been too close to the action in the past to have a good look. My crewman throbbed in response to the spent, languid beauty now stretched out on the couch, looking for all the world like some classical painting, her expression now the image of angelic peace. The mysterious smile returned as she recovered and resumed watching me. She began massaging her tits, giving me an encore to finish to. She didn't need to continue for long; I sent up a fountain of cum in very short order. I managed to keep my eyes open so I could see her when I did it. The delighted little girl expression reappeared, as if she had witnessed the most wonderful sight instead of a frustrated thirty-year old jacking off. I lay back in the easy chair, my chest and belly covered with the stuff. After a bit, she got up and went to the kitchen. She commented as she returned with the paper towels, "We should have these handy for you in the future." "You planning to do this again?" I asked, my breath barely back as I accepted towels from her. She grinned as I cleaned myself. "Of course. I'll do this ever day if you want. Interested?" "If I had my druthers, I'd rather ditch the discreet distance rule," I admitted, giving her very close body a frank look. Somehow I still remembered not to touch, even though her sweat-covered skin was easily within reach. "It was very difficult to just watch you." She smiled sadly and shook her head as she held her hand out for the towels. I stiffened a bit again, thinking about her just taking my cum like that. "Brent, you mustn't. You understand?" I nodded. She brightened and turned to carry the towels into the kitchen. "I need a shower. No peeking!" What a bizarre thing for a woman who just masturbated for me to say, I thought. Sunday morning felt a little odd for me at first. I cooked up some breakfast and sat reading my paper, trying not to think too much about events of the prior day. She came in wearing her customary Aéropostale sleep tee, gave me a bright smile and helped herself to some eggs as her bagel toasted. She got on the computer after that, apparently checking emails and such, as I, completely at a loss for what to talk about with her, kept myself buried in my newspaper. Can you blame me? The only thing running through my mind whenever I thought to say something to her was, Hey when you were masturbating yesterday, you looked incredibly beautiful. Not exactly breakfast table conversation. After she finished up on the computer, she disappeared for a while. I resumed my Clancy novel, actually making real progress in it this time. The day continued peacefully like this until early in the afternoon, while I was making a sandwich for myself. "Brent?" I turned to see Ronni in all her glory, leaning in the entrance to the hallway. "Yeah?" She twiddled with a ringlet of hair. "I was going to go ahead and practice today, if you don't mind." "Practice?" "Dancing. I figured I would go ahead and practice with you around now." I grinned. "You're not worried that I'll start jacking off again?" She cocked an eyebrow. "If you don't, it must mean I'm doing something wrong." After she disappeared back to her room, I sighed, shook my head and carried my sandwich out to the table to resume my reading. A while later, she called from the back, "Can you put it on the track before 'Candy-O'?" "That's a weird one. Are you sure?" "Yeah." I went and turned on the stereo, punched up 'Shoo Be Doo' and went back to the table. After I sat down, I noticed movement and looked up to see a bejeweled Ronni entering in a stunning violet evening gown. She strolled out to the pole and posed with her back to it, her head down, waiting for the next track to begin. I realized that as high as her dress was slit and as thin as the material was, showing the contour of her nipples clearly, it was really stripper wear. She had much larger earrings than usual, an ankle bracelet, and a spectacular choker, and she'd even done her makeup. Basically, she looked like she'd just stepped out of the most expensive gentleman's club in town. Actually, I'm not sure they would even have a girl so beautiful. The moment "Candy-O" started, it was as if she'd just transported me there. She whirled, sending her hair flying, seizing the pole and beginning a hip-bumping motion to the beat that would have been enough to get me horny if she'd stopped right there. Once the verse began, she danced around the pole, her hands repeatedly smoothing her gown from breast to hip as she danced, then beginning to add leg hooks and back arching moves to the routine. I could tell immediately this was a memorized routine she was working on-- once or twice I saw a frown and head shake telling me something had gone wrong-- and it clearly had parts to it she didn't trust herself to do yet. She would pause in those places, then pick up again after a moment. But one move she did try, climbing the pole once again, higher than the previous day, and this time clutching it with her leg and leaning back to hang upside down. My heart almost stopped when she did that. It didn't just look difficult, it looked damned dangerous, and I knew she was a beginner. But she pulled it off. Her gown fell open, revealing a violet and rhinestone g-string outlining luscious thighs as she reached down with her hands and allowed herself to slide down and settle onto them in a handstand. At that moment, I was simply staring in slack-jawed amazement. Between the imminent danger of the moment before and the incredible sexiness of her pose, she had me bewitched. Once on her hands, she let go of the bar and cartwheeled onto her feet, holding the stance she ended at for the end of the piece, a pose with one hand behind her head and one on her hip. I think I was still staring in shock when the next track began and she looked over at me, her eyes sparkling. "Well?" One thing I had somehow managed to grasp during my stupor. "You are not learning this stuff in some pole-dancing fitness class. You can't be." She gave me her loose grin again. "I never said anything about a fitness class. I said I was taking lessons." "You mean private lessons? How can you afford something like that?" She crossed her arms and smirked at me, leaning against the pole. "I keep a big chunk saved up for a rainy day. I decided this would be worth it." "But it's gotta be expensive." "Hell yeah it's expensive! It's a hundred twenty five an hour! But I'm buying in bulk. Ten lessons for nine hundred. That's only ninety an hour." I stared at her in amazement. This was the girl who drove a cheap scooter to work so she wouldn't have to spend money on a car. "Why are you putting that kind of money into this?" She bit her lip as she gazed at me, thinking over the question. She shrugged. "Did you know I was a dance major before I dropped out of college? I guess this is just... fun for me." Her hand ran up the pole and her body started to quirking to 'Night Spots'. She was just improvising now. She was also starting to give me the seductive come-on looks again. "You can't hold on too long" was apparently not inspiring to her; she danced over to the stereo and hit the next track button. "Lust for Kicks" apparently worked better. The violet gown began working its way off her body. I don't know if those lessons were just for pole dance, or if she was getting stripping lessons too, but she sure had learned how to do it somewhere. She strutted nearer to me for this part, giving me a teasing peekaboo of her breasts from point-blank range before the gown finally slipped away from them, and a hip-grinding removal of the g-string close enough I thought she was about to start lap-dancing. She would have got a surprise if she did, as by that time I was out and stroking. She saw it and stayed where she was, dancing to "Got A Lot On My Head" wearing nothing but jewelry and heels, close enough to touch as I made love to her in my mind. She wasn't shy at all about looking at my crewman as I worked him. The way her tongue was moving, it looked to me like she was imagining it in her mouth. I sure as hell was. Then she made it back to the pole for "Dangerous Type", a song that I swear must have been written specifically for naked women to dance to. The pole returned to her routine, as she threw in various leg hooks and stretches, but she also began simply pushing herself up against it, holding it between her legs as she slid up and down. Soon I realized she had switched somewhere from dancing to masturbating. She leaned against the pole, still putting on a show since she was doing centerfold poses, but with her fingers now working deep inside her and her hips grinding both to the beat and to the sensations. The music ended and she slid down the pole facing me, looking across the room at me with her lips open and her breasts laboring, watching me beginning to come to the awesome sight. The delighted smile was still there, but in the middle of sexual ardor it had a more lusty, adult character. Still, once I had leaned back and stopped, she leaned back also her rump sliding out so her back could sink to the floor. Her eyes closed a little, still looking at me with that pleading, inviting stare, but her fingers sped up and I could tell she was somewhere far away now. not actually looking at me at all. I leaned back and enjoyed her slow transformation from horny dancer to sex goddess and then once again to heavenly being as that angel's smile appeared at the end. I watched those lovely breasts rising and falling as she breathed, then chuckled. "I can't tell which of us is having more fun with this." "Me," she declared with a breathy voice and a tired smile. "Definitely me." Needless to say, my wait for her to come home from work that day had a very different character. For one thing, I had never before actually waited for her to come home. Her work hours had been a time of peace for me, of knowing I wasn't going to be assaulted with a live tit show for the next six to eight hours. Suddenly it had become a time of deprivation. I literally couldn't think of anything else but writhing, sweaty skin and rocking thighs, unless it was swaying breasts and those inviting, begging lips. I tried TV, I tried the computer, I tried porn videos, nothing would take my mind off her. I was so distracted, I was late getting my dinner. I was still finishing it up when she came home. She walked in, looking like a dream and smiled at me. "Hi." No hot wings tonight. That cook had Sunday off. "Hi," I echoed, and couldn't think of a damn thing beyond that except, "You look good." She glanced down at her uniform, the same tank top and shorts she always worked in, and smirked at me. But it was true. She'd left her makeup on, I realized. She normally scrubbed it off at work With a coy smile and a hand on her hip, she asked. "So where do you want me?" I blinked. "Um... what?" "I've been horny since I left for work," she declared.. "Got kidded about my nipples at least a dozen times. Pick a spot for me. I'm starting now." They were standing up rather well at the moment, I noticed. Without hesitation, I stood, pulled my plates together, and carried them to the sink. "There you go." While I rinsed them and got them into the dishwasher, she climbed on and sat in the middle, vigorously massaging her tits. This wasn't the slow build up like the previous day; she had walked into the house already in heat. She smiled seductively at me as I pulled my chair a little ways back to add a little insurance space. Then she stared pointedly at my chest as she wiggled slowly out of her tank top. After a moment, I realized what she meant and pulled off my shirt. She stared at my pants as she pulled off her shorts and I complied. Once I finally took my seat, we carried on together, she with her everything and I with my crewman, at least until I came. She wasn't finished yet and kept going, massively aroused and lost in sensuous fervor. It took her a long time, so long that I was hard and stroking again before she finished. She wound up laying on her side and watching me, enchanted by the sight of me beating my meat. Honestly, I found that the weirdest part of our odd new relationship. A woman in masturbation can be beautiful; she moves all her sexy parts in a sensuous show. A man just sits there jacking off. At least, that's the way it seemed to me. Yet she was obviously and unabashedly enjoying my masturbation. The week that followed went much the same. Monday and Tuesday, when she didn't have work, I came home to find her eager to dance for me. Wednesday through Friday, she began work before I got of, but I wound up eating dinner at "Max's" all three nights. When she came home, we masturbated for each other again. Thursday, she was still energetic enough to dance as well. Yet when Saturday came again, and I saw her that morning, all I could think about was the fact that I couldn't touch, couldn't wake up with her. head on the pillow next to mine. Isn't that crazy? I was getting these extraordinary live sex shows and pole dances by a woman with pro model good looks, yet all I could think of was how I wasn't getting the perfectly ordinary. She detected my discontent somehow. "This isn't working out for you, is it?" She seemed somehow truly sympathetic, even though she knew full well it was her rule causing my troubles. I stared at my coffee and finally decided it was time to ask. "Is there some way you can explain to me why you don't want me to touch you?" She smiled sadly and shook her head. "It just isn't a good idea." "Well, I'm not sure what we are doing is a good idea. It's wonderful fun, but... to tell you the truth, it's frustrating." "I would hate to stop," she worried. "Not only am I having wonderful fun, but you... I don't care how frustrated you say you are, you seem a lot happier." "I'm happier because I'm thinking about how nice it would be to make love to you, Ronni!" She beamed at me, that honestly charmed expression of hers, looking like she would like to kiss me. If only she would! I was thinking. Of course, she didn't. "Why don't we do favors for each other?" she offered. "You know, like requests? Something we would like to see the other person do? Maybe if you can ask for things it will help." I wound up asking to watch her use a sex toy. She giggled and went to her room, rummaging around a while and finally coming back with a vibrator. The next thing I knew, she was giving me another fine porn show. When I started disrobing though, she asked me to hold off. For the next forty minutes I watched her bring herself to climax with that thing twice. I was throbbing hard by the end. "Now my request. I want you to come on me." That almost shocked me. She was hardly the first girl to ask for that, but it seemed an awful lot like touching and certainly violated the 'discreet distance' rule. She nodded in understanding without me saying a word. "Tell me when you're close and I'll come nearer then. I'll just dance for you until then." She started up the Cars once again and began dancing, no routines, just her usual prancing about and practicing her moves ad-lib. Having watched her vibrator show, I really didn't need more stimulus, but I enjoyed it anyway. I beckoned to her when the time came and she just threw it in as another dance move, sliding up to me on her knees with her eyes bright and excited. I thought she wanted me to aim at her tits or something, but when I began shuddering she opened her mouth and leaned forward. I got at least half of it in as her lips spread out in a huge open-mouth grin. She backed away as I settled back in my chair, an odd look on her face. Once moment she seemed happy, like while she swallowed it and used her tongue and her fingers to corral more of it, then the next moment she seemed almost distant, like she was thinking of something troubling. She sat there on her haunches, looking up at me with that odd, wistful look. A Discreet Distance "Are you okay, Ronni?" "Hm? Yeah." She smiled again and went to the kitchen to wash her face. "You need anything to clean up with?" "A wet towel for the floor. I didn't get all of it across." She laughed and came back with some towels, one of them wet. "Guess I didn't get you horny enough." "You got me plenty horny, woman." Her face grew that odd look again, and she retreated to her room after that. The day proceeded in an odd, uncomfortable way until she left for work. I was left to piddle around and try to sort out my feelings. Honestly, I can't really say I ever did manage it. All I can say is that when she came home, hot wings in hand, and collapsed on the couch, I had made a decision. "Let's not do this anymore." She stared up at me with a lonely, shocked look. "But..." "I've loved every minute of it. Honest. You are spectacularly beautiful and frankly I'm either already in love with you, or I will be very soon. That's the problem. I can't touch you and it's driving me crazy." I got up and headed for my room. I didn't want to discuss it. I thought I could just walk out of there no matter what she said. All she had to say was, "Brent." I stopped. I didn't look back. I hadn't just heard my name. I heard tears. I didn't want to see them. "Damn you, Brent, is that how you're going to do this?" I hadn't been wrong. She was sobbing the words as much as saying them. "Is that how I'm going to do what?" I asked, forcing myself to stay calm. "I'm not asking you to move out. I don't want you to move out. I'll find some way to live with you prancing around naked if you must. I'll even see if I can watch your dancing without losing it, because I would really miss watching you dance. I'm just saying we need to stop masturbating for each other. I can't take not being able to make love to you, Ronni." Arms slipped around me, nearly frightening me out of my wits. I'd had no idea she'd walked up behind me, but there she was, clutching on to me from behind, that beautiful body finally pressing against mine. "Damn you. Why couldn't you just do what you're supposed to do?" she whispered. "What was I supposed to do?" I asked. She didn't answer for a long time. She just slowly made the back of my shirt wet with her tears. Finally her voice rasped, "You were supposed to rape me." I couldn't even begin to imagine a response to that. It was just too out of left field. I waited instead. "I didn't drop out of college because I washed out," she whispered. "I was raped. Not one of those guy in a mask in the bushes things, or a date rape. This was worse. Five frat boys decided to spend their spring break raping and killing a coed for the fun of it." I recognized the story with a chill. It was news from a couple years before. Most of what she said next, I already knew. "The only thing that saved me was that they disagreed exactly what would be the most interesting way to dispose of me. I had to sit there, gagged and tied to a cot, while they continued to take turns fucking me as they talked about how to do me. One of them wanted to... he wanted to eat me. He seriously wanted to cook and eat me. He almost had the others talked into it by the time the police showed up." I felt her shaking breaths and tried to turn, but she gripped onto me, stopped me from turning to comfort her. "They got jail, but I got Hell. I was in a mental ward being treated for a breakdown for nearly a year. I guess I never really recovered." "Ronni, you can stop," I said, my throat hurting from the tension. "You don't have to say any more." "Yes, I do." she whispered in a fierce hiss. "You deserve an explanation." In the silence, I kept trying to come up with something to let her relax and forget about it. She began again before I could think of anything. "Rape victims often try to come up with a justification for what happened to them, a way for their world to make sense again. Some decide that all men are like that, and freak out if a man gets near them. Some turn into tramps, to prove to themselves that what happened to them was okay, because they're just sluts. "I... I guess I was in the first category. Once I was out of the hospital, I mostly kept it under control, but I only had it barely under control. I couldn't let a man touch me. I'm sure my family thinks when I moved in with you that I was making great progress. The truth was, the longer I was around you, the more I wanted to see proof . Proof that all men really were monsters. Proof that this perfect gentleman I was living with was really a monster. I dressed sexier at home, and you didn't do a thing. I started walking around in panties and a tee shirt, and you didn't blink an eye. Then I went nude. You complained, but politely, and you put up with it." The sobs somehow turned into laughter. "Then you bought that damned pole. Brent, I don't think you knew what you had done when you did that. I watched the DVD, and suddenly... I found you'd given me back my dance." She let go of me, then small but strong hands urged me to turn. She was looking up at me, smiling with tears streaming down her cheeks. "I guess... that was where my humanity had been hiding. And you gave it back to me." Closing her eyes, she breathed in deeply, then opened them again, hazel eyes burning into mine. "I can do this now. Only for you, but..." Her arms slipped around my waist and she stared up at me, her lips waiting with a teary smile. I bent down to kiss her.