("`-''-/").___..--''"`-._ `6_ 6 ) `-. ( ).`-.__.`) (_Y_.)' ._ ) `._ `. ``-..-' _..`--'_..-_/ /--'_.' ,' (((' (((-((('' (((( K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N _________________________________________ WARNING! This text file contains sexually explicit material. If you do not wish to read this type of literature, or you are under age, PLEASE DELETE THIS FILE NOW!!!! _________________________________________ Scroll down to view text -------------------------------------------------------- This work is copyrighted to the author © 2010. Please don't remove the author information or make any changes to this story. All rights reserved. Thank you for your consideration. -------------------------------------------------------- The Dancer by Oscar (oscarpaco@aol.com) *** A pretty woman has an unnatural talent for dance and decides to use her talent to please men. (MF, exh, oral) *** She was an exquisite dancer in every way: lithe where the others were stiff, she was capable of stretching her body into fluid shapes that never failed to surprise a captive audience; elegant where the other girls were cheesy or slutty. She made simple pirouettes seem like exotic fruits; focused where the others were haphazard and arbitrary, she made use of every muscle in her body; long and subtle, she capitalized effectively and economically on the extension of her legs and arms; traditionally beautiful where the others were made-up and painted and false. She moved inside her body with respect and awe, surprising even herself some nights; and classic where the other girls were sleazy, she never relied on thrusts and shakes when gesture and suggestion promised more than exposed. Naturally rhythmic, her dances unfolded like mini-epics, simultaneously complex and straight forward, compact and complete in ways that only the religious understand. Because she was naturally good at her job, she suffered resentment and jealousy from the other dancers: she made more tips, she gathered more clientele, she turned down more invitations for private shows than the others combined could hope to brag about. Unlike her colleagues, Stephanie danced for the near religious artistic rush, not expressly for the money, though of course she never complained about the latter. In high school, she had been on the gymnastics team, on the diving team, and had even tried out her Freshman year for the drama club, knowing ahead of time that they did at least two musicals every year; but where she excelled in the former, she simply did not fit in with the largely superficial gregariousness the drama club demanded. In college. She gave brief thought to being a dance major, and though she did enjoy the few classes she took, Stephanie discovered sadly that modern dance, though often bold and challenging, did not offer the release she needed – a release which she scarcely understood then but which with time she began to crave more and more, until, by the time she was "legal," it had become a full blown hunger, an emptiness that needed fulfillment, not quick fixes. It was by circumstance alone that her first experience with exotic dancing came about. She and Gina had been carousing for a few hours with several guys one Friday night, hopping from one bar to another, clubbing in that time tested ritual of American youth, when Armando suggested that they all go to the Twilight Club. Although they were not a true couple by technical standards. Stephanie and Armando had nonetheless pushed friendly flirting to outrageous heights, exchanging blue language, smoldering gazes and the occasional grope in public – enough to make others assume they had consummated something, even though they took great pains to point out that they were not an item. That Friday night, in fact, quite inebriated and friendly, Armando had twice squeezed Stephanie’s breast in front of the others, making everyone present ooh and ah, their jokes rolling out freely. But Gina had heard stories about the Twilight Club, she knew what kind of place it was, and she wasn’t about to be dragged out to the edge of town to watch half-naked girls bump and grind for a roomful of drunken men with hard-ons. Just tipsy enough, just curious and drunk enough, Stephanie expressed interest, even went so far as to say she wanted to see for herself what "those kinds of places" were all about, why men seemed to be so fond of them. Gina tried to talk her friend out of it, even pleaded with her not to go, arguing that she didn’t know what she was getting herself into, but Stephanie had made up her mind and would not hear the protests. In the end, Gina bowed out, and Stephanie found herself walking into the Twilight Club accompanied by four very drunk and very excited men, Armando in her arm. There was nothing special about the Twilight club; if anything, it embraced every stereotype of a sleazy strip club, right down to the throbbing music, the dark and dangerous atmosphere, and the general feel of dirtiness that pervaded the place. Still, something heavy and urgent clicked in her that first night, and by the third vodka and tonic, as she watched the seventh or eighth topless dancer grinding her pelvis into the center poll and pulling on her impossibly long nipples. Stephanie felt what could only be described as her first visual orgasm. Her eyes glazed over, her lids fell heavily, she stretched her neck slightly, and let out a low, hardly audible whimper, a gesture that would not have been noticed at all if Armando had not had his arm around her and a hand on her thigh, just above the knee. He leaned over and said into her ear, "What’s wrong?" Stephanie threw her eyes open and nearly gasped, for during the time she had had her eyes closed, the Twilight Club had somehow magically transformed itself into a kind of temple – a foreboding erotic holy place where men and women alike came to worship the female body, that representation of all mysteries, all uncertainties. Of course, the Twilight Club remained exactly what it was: a dark, smoky strip joint; but, for Stephanie, something had changed for good, something irrepressible. On the drive home, Stephanie sat between Armando and Gregory in the back seat. They were all drunk now, especially the driver, and the drive back to campus became a long, harrowing affair. Save for Armando, who spoke only when he was directly addressed and then only responded in monosyllables, the guys were all chatter, talking in that incessantly juvenile fashion only young men can perfect. Once, after the car swerved and nearly drove headlong into a ditch, Stephanie grabbed hold of Armando’s hand and placed it directly over her crotch, an action that carried so much improvisational force and come-what-may playfulness that sparks of erotic energy flew freely between the two of them. Stephanie knew she was wet and suspected that, even through her jeans, Armando could tell how excited she was. The car grew strangely quiet then, as if they all sensed something frightening and sticky were taking place. Not once over the next fifteen minutes did Armando make a move to pull his had away from her crotch. Amazingly, they made it back alive. Without needing any further invitation, Armando announced to the others that he was walking Stephanie home and that he would see them tomorrow. Stephanie offered no resistance, and the two walked across the parking lot together, holding on to one another for dear life. Back at Stephanie’s apartment, Armando sat on the bed, his head and body reeling from the curious mixture of excitement, drunkenness and charged hormones. He did not know what to expect, and Stephanie hadn’t said a word in well over an hour. She retrieved a couple of beers from the fridge and walked back into the bedroom with the most serious look on her face that Armando had ever witnessed: clearly, she had a plan. Armando sat back against the wall. Putting on a jazz CD, Stephanie began a dance that was amazing both for its boldness and its startling grace: not five minutes ago, she had stumbled as she walked, her legs slurred, but now she moved with the elegant composure of a ballerina. She did not strip as much as she transformed from a beautiful, normal coed into an erotic icon of everything sexual in the universe. Quite unlike the dancers they had watched earlier, Stephanie intensified her dance once her clothes were removed, stating clearly with her body that the nudity was not an end in itself but an introduction to deeper meanings. She did thrust, she did not rock her pelvis, she did not bump her hips against the air, and she did not rely on the thousands of other typical exotic dancer tricks: instead, she dramatically stripped herself of all inhibitions, one by one. During the silences between songs on the CD, she paused mid-air, frozen like a still life, a statue of feminine nubility, regardless of the pose she struck. Once, she stood for a full minute with her left leg spread a full two feet above the ground, and Armando could see no evidence of twitching or muscle strain. Her dance lasted for thirty minutes, and by the end her body was enveloped in a sheen of sweat, glistening under the dim lights of the room. Initially, Armando found it impossible to look her straight in the eye, and when Stephanie gaze straight into him, he simply turned away, afraid perhaps of betraying his less than noble thoughts; yet, when Stephanie did not ease up on him and in fact made arrows out of her stares into his eyes. Armando at last reciprocated, tossing off caution and inhibition alike, letting her know the effect this was having on him. The experience was intensely erotic, indescribably sexual, and half way through, Armando could take the tension no further: he unzipped his pants, pushed them off, and began stroking his penis, staring directly into her eyes as he did so. Stephanie did not lose a beat; if anything, she flashed at the new development. She liked what she saw, too. Armando’s cock was exquisitely hard, perfectly symmetrical and beautiful, everything she had hoped, and she was overjoyed to be the cause of his excitement. During the last song, Stephanie worked her body into a tense muscular marvel, increasing her physical exertion until she felt she might pass out from the intensity of her dancing. During this last round of exercise, Armando increased his own dance, working himself into a furious tension. Finally, Stephanie stepped into his body so that her sex hovered directly in front of him, so that he could breathe in her swampy aroma, so that he could touch her if he chose. With a loud grunt, Armando climaxed powerfully, letting loose an uncontrollable series of paroxysms: his release copious, lengthy and violent. Sperm landed against her sex, her thighs, his chest, his hand and balls. For finale, Stephanie lowered herself to him and licked his cum from his body, breathing hungrily as she did so, spending a good few minutes on his balls and his shaft. And when she was finished, she collapsed on the floor in front of him, burying her face in his lap, her body limp and exhausted, and the both of them passed out. It was the animal purity of that maiden dance, the excruciating precision, the mysterious accuracy in her movements that helped Stephanie to make the decision: she was a dancer now, and the rest of her life would be religiously devoted to study. She desired to free the genius inside of her, to learn not only the craft but the art form total, the spiritual and intellectual aspects of the dance that unleashed the secret desires and the terminal needs of what it means to be a sexual human being. And if she often found her business to be sleazy, occasionally degrading and periodically against the laws in some states, she always reminded herself that there was the dance first and foremost: inside that zone, she could be entirely free. The End * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * It's okay to *READ* stories about unprotected sex with others outside a monogamous relationship. But it isn't okay to *HAVE* unprotected sex with people other than a trusted partner. 4-million people around the world contract HIV every year. You only have one body per lifetime, so take good care of it! * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * Kristen's collection - Directory 69