[dnce] [2003-05-25] Couch Dance [MF]

     Couch Dance, by Rajah Dodger <rdodger@hotmail.com>, 
Copyright (c) 2003.  All rights reserved, except that electronic 
not-for-profit reproduction rights only are explicitly granted 
with the stipulation that this authorship and permission note 
must remain attached.
     
     Word Count: 1114

     Author's Note:  An original and shorter version of this was 
posted in the Erotic Stories and Fantasies mailing list; I no 
longer have that version.

     I walked into the topless bar and almost immediately turned 
around and walked out. Too crowded, too noisy, too smoky... it 
wasn't going to be worth it just for $10 table dances. On the way 
back to my hotel a small building caught my eye with the sign 
"Gentlemen's Dance Partners".  I figured I could spare five 
minutes to check out the place. When I went in there was a latina 
hostess in an enclosed foyer and a sign -- $10 entry, $20 per 
hour to the house for the ladies' time and a tip of at least that 
much for the lady. The music from behind the closed door sounded 
okay, so I handed her a ten and she opened the door.

     Inside on one side was a pool table and some card tables, 
and a bar with football on the TV. A glitter ball spun slowly 
over a small parquet dance floor and several couches lined the 
walls. An open doorway led into a back room. There were two 
couples slow-grinding under the glitter ball, a couple of guys 
with a curvy brunette playing pool, and three women on one of the 
couches chatting.

     I went over to the couch and my eyes lit on a redhead in a 
well-filled tube top and short skirt. I introduced myself as a 
first-timer there, and she agreed to help me feel like one of the 
family. I held out my hand and she pulled herself up out of the 
couch, tube top jiggling pleasantly, her head coming just up to 
my height.

     We went to the foyer window and she stamped a time card, 
then took my hand and led me through the open doorway to the back 
area where there were small leather couches -- almost loveseats -
- with coffee tables and a bit of dance floor near each. The 
light was dimmer here, and we settled into one of the couches. We 
did the usual who-are-you and what-do-you-do chatter until the 
music changed to a danceable Billy Joel number.

     On the dance floor she got a lot more friendly, melting into 
my arms and resting her head against my shoulder.  When I 
casually slid my hand down her back past the waistline, she 
pressed herself against me and traced circles on my lower spine 
with her fingernails. By the time the music changed, my hand was 
familiar with the contours of her bottom, my head was filled with 
the scent of her hair and my body was buzzing with warm fuzzy 
feelings.

     We settled into the couch and she leaned into me, my arm 
wrapping naturally around her and settling alongside what felt 
like a nicely full and resilient breast. Her lips tickled the 
side of my neck and one of her hands found its way along the 
inside of my leg. I was enjoying the hell out of this but 
wondering just how far we could go in what was basically a public 
space.  The way the couches were arranged, I couldn't actually 
see the people in them, just the tops of their heads.  Head, 
singular in one case, and I wondered where that guy's dance 
partner was until the head leaned back and I saw it to be a 
woman's face, eyes tightly closed and mouth open in what had to 
be an expression of passion fulfilled.

     About that time my companion's hand made its way up to my 
zipper, and I leaned back in the loveseat as she moved her palm 
back and forth over my bulge.  She moved her lips to my ear, and 
with an agonizing slowness licked her way around it and into the 
center.  In a husky voice she mentioned that I seemed a little 
tense, and she might be persuaded to help out with that.

     "Persuaded?"  My mind wasn't working terribly quickly 
through the erotic feelings she was raising in me.  I squeezed 
her breast and let my hand make its way slowly down her side to 
cup her bottom, my fingers exploring those curves just as her 
fingernails outlined the swollen contours of my shaft.  "Not that 
kind of persuasion, sweetie," she said, "I'm a working girl, 
after all."   A light finally dawned in my head, but not so 
urgently that I didn't take my sweet time sliding my hand over 
her entire bottom on its way to my hip pocket where my wallet was 
ensconced.  Two minutes later, a pair of Andrew Jacksons had 
changed allegiance and my hand was nicely tucked under her skirt, 
discovering that she had dispensed with underwear.

     She deftly unfastened my belt and slid my zipper down, then 
slipped her cool fingers into my briefs.  It was almost a shock 
to feel the contrast between them and the heat of my cock.  
Without observable effort she threaded my cock out into open air, 
and wrapped her hand around it.  Her thumb was rolling repeatedly 
over the top, and my brain was being split into a rainbow between 
that and the way my fingers felt embedded in her own moist 
channel.  I leaned back in the couch, rocking my head from side 
to side as my lips moved soundlessly.

     She produced a handkerchief from somewhere, and the next 
thing I was conscious of was spurting into her cloth-covered 
hand, her other hand stroking my balls as she urged me to "Be a 
good boy, give it all to Mamma".  I managed to hold my vocal 
response down to a soft moan, and her hands moved until I had 
nothing left to give.

     I was impressed, to say the least.  But I thought my head 
would explode when the handkerchief disappeared and she ducked 
her head down to my lap to give my cock a thorough tongue-
washing.  The next thing I knew my pants were zipped up and my 
dance partner was helping me stand up on shaky legs.  We walked 
back to the foyer window, and she repunched her time card.  Then 
she turned to me and gave me a sizzling kiss while her hand 
played lightly between my legs.  When the kiss ended, she smiled 
at me and said "I hope you come back soon -- you're a wonderful 
'dancer'!"  With that she turned and sashayed toward the TV area.

     The same latina was on duty when I got to the exit window, 
and she checked the time and quoted me a number.  I paid it, only 
slightly disturbed by how much this brief afternoon dalliance had 
cost me.  I was remembering that other area in back, the one 
where only the woman's head was visible.  In my mind I was 
already planning for my next visit.

     *****

///// Completed 05-25-2003 by Rajah Dodger rdodger@hotmail.com



  

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