Charlene on the Street Ch. 11

Charlene was back on the street again, exposed in her skimpy, stretched out brown knit dress, which was now filthy with dirt, sweat, and come stains. It was four thirty. She figured she was less half an hour from home by foot if she didn't dawdle in alleys again. She was walking almost normally now. Her pelvis was more or less back to normal, even though it ached deliciously deep inside from heavy use and so many orgasms. Somehow that last orgasm had put a little life back in her and snapped her pussy back into shape after the epic reaming she got early in the afternoon. Still, she felt tired. She was also sick and tired of hiding. She figured that she would just walk as fast as she could, out in the open in this not so great neighborhood, counting on speed to keep her out of trouble. As soon as she got home, she told herself, she'd take a long hot shower, clean her pussy and take a nap. Her first show was at eight tonight and she wasn't sure she could do it.

She pushed on in a hurry, ignoring the catcalls and hoots she got as she passed horny young men. One or two accosted her and asked how much but she walked around them. She kind of liked being picked up on the street -- it made her feel good to attract men and to know they lusted after her body so much they were willing to pay. But this was not the time to experiment with hooking. Besides, she had tried to prostitute herself just a couple of hours ago and got burned. Someday it might be fun to come back and try a couple of guys, but right then she wanted to get home more than she wanted to get laid again.

She walked on. She really was tired after a long day of fucking, after a long night of fucking. The afternoon sun was hot and there was no shade on either side of the street. It wasn't as hot as Phoenix but it was hot enough. Her feet were starting to ache. She was already exhausted. Although she could walk better, the ache deep inside her battered pelvis slowed her down and kept her attention. Maybe I should of taken it a bit easier on the multiple orgasms, she wondered. Maybe I was greedy. Her thoughts were interrupted by a yell from across the street "Hey baby -- you selling it?"

After several blocks more her energy level was really starting to flag. All those energy-consuming orgasms had drained her battery down. She started thinking that maybe she had overestimated her endurance just a bit.

Her dress problem was even worse than before. All that pulling had stretched the neckline of her skimpy brown dress and it no longer covered her tits. She had to gather it up and twist it into a knot in front, which drew the hem of her dress up to just below her pussy. That knot held together with a flimsy piece of yarn she pulled from the hem of the knit dress, which was starting to unravel. The front was covered with come stains on top of the come, pussy juice, dirt and sweat stains that were already there. She wondered if guys could smell her as she passed. One guy offered her fifty bucks for a blowjob.

Dare she hitchhike? It was a real risk. She thought it would be asking for trouble the way she looked. If she could just hold out walking, it was a half hour more, at most, she was sure. She could make it, maybe. On the other hand, she wasn't sure she could go on like this. Maybe she should go back to the alleys. She wanted just to rest for a minute, but she didn't want to stop on the street and risk getting cornered again. One guy with a bulge in his pants had already followed her for two blocks.

A shiny new Corvette appeared from nowhere at the curb. The driver leaned over to roll down the window and called "Charlene! Over here!"

She couldn't believe her ears. It was him! The dude who left her behind at the hotel!

She trotted over to the car. "What are you doing here?" She was mad at him but maybe he could give her a ride before she told him off.

"I was on my way to the club. I thought maybe I'd catch you before the evening show. Maybe we could have a drink ... or something before your act." She knew what he meant -- he wanted a quickie. "What are you doing way over here? And why are you wearing that filthy rag from last night?"

"Give me a ride and I'll tell you." She hiked her dress and climbed into the car, no long caring that he and anyone on the street who was paying attention could see her ass, pussy and come-matted pubic hair. The fragile piece of yarn holding her top together broke and her tits spilled out. She sat there in the bucket seat, glaring at him, tits hanging out and stinking to high heaven. "Let's go." She said in an angry tone.

Confused, because he didn't know why she was angry, he drove on toward the club. "Pee-yoo. I love you honey but you really smell. What happened to you?"

She dumped all over him, starting with "As if you didn't know..."

"But baby" he said when he could get a word in edgewise "didn't you go to the front desk?" She had. "Didn't they give you anything?" She had to admit that she had left in a huff because they were acting nasty to her. He seemed honestly horrified.

"But honey, didn't they give you the envelope and the old trench coat?"

"What are you talking about?"

"I left an envelope with a spare $200 to get you home safe and my old trench coat. There was a note..."

"Why didn't you leave them in the room?" she asked accusingly.

"Because it was raining at seven o'clock and I needed it to go out to the car."

"Why did you leave so early?"

"Because I had to get to work. The New York Stock Exchange is on Eastern Standard Time. We're on the West Coast, so I had to get going early. I've got a deal in play."

"Why did you pick that snobby hotel?"

"Because I used to own it but I traded up last year. I thought they'd treat you right because you were with me and they know me. I guess they thought you were a streetwalker I picked up. You know -- like the movie...."

NYSE, deal, hotel owner, plenty of spare cash, movie about a rich guy and a prostitute. She was getting some clues here. She thought maybe she'd better be nice to him.

"Well, no harm done. It was an interesting day." She said blandly.

"Oh baby, I am so sorry if it caused you any trouble."

"That's OK." She said. "I met some interesting people." Who fucked me, she thought to herself.

"Well I admire your resourcefulness. I'll make it up to you -- I promise. How'd you like to go shopping for some really expensive clothes in Beverly Hills?" This really was starting to sound like a movie. The club was coming up in the next block.

Lester's Bam Bam Girlie Club. What a stupid name. The owner, Lester, was back in rehab and had asked Deidre, a feature dancer and Charlene's roommate, to manage the club while he was gone. Deidre had taken to this job like a fish to water. She still danced every night but she managed the back office so well that profits were soaring. Charlene sometimes wondered if Lester would see any of it.

As soon as she walked in the club she heard Deidre's voice yelling across the room. "Charlene! Get on up there!" The clock on the wall said six o'clock. Charlene had counted on at least two more hours to freshen up. Charlene moaned, "I can't dance now. Tell Billy I can't go on."

"You have to!" Deidre the Duchess hissed. "Cherie and Susanne are both out. We're short on dancers. Everyone's got to work double sets! You have to go on!"

"There's a queer odor in here", Deidre said accusingly. Charlene winced because the dude had said the same thing. This was the last moment that Charlene remembered the dude standing with them.

"Yeh. It's the dress. It kind of got spunked" Charlene shrugged. "Let's just say that on this dress is a permanent record of my sex life for the last twenty-four hours."

Deidre was leaning over her now. "And what's this, now?" Deidre took Charlene's left breast in her hand. "Is this dried jism? Were you shagged this afternoon?" Deidre's eyes narrowed. She was always getting on Charlene's case about her slutty ways.

"Was he any good, then?" Deidre asked, looking down at Charlene's pussy. She leaned over and sniffed. "Have you still got his load in your quim?" Charlene did not answer and did not volunteer that she still had come up her chute, too.

"Well, too bad because we don't have time for you to clean up."

Charlene whined. "I've got to clean up and get ready..."

"No time!" Deidre barked. "You go on the way you are! You're on in five minutes!" Charlene groaned. "Not wearing this old rag! It's filthy!"

"You have no choice!" Deidre barked. "Get up there!"

Charlene pulled the looked sluttish, exposed, and vulnerable but strangely alluring in the filthy, stretched, revealing old brown knit dress that clinged to her body and let her tits hang out. But she never considered it a dance costume, not for a minute.

"You're here!" Billy looked mightily relieved when he saw her come up to the stage. "You're on in one minute. Double sets -- we're short-staffed. Dance your ass off. The crowd is hungry tonight!" He looked at her again. "What's with the dishrag? New act? We've got the same old music."

"It's OK. I'll dance to it." Charlene moved next to him, waiting to go onstage. She looked back over her shoulder to find the dude who had brought her, and who had left her in the hotel this morning, which seemed so long ago.

Billy suddenly looked puzzled. "What's that smell?" Charlene didn't answer.

Suddenly the hard beat of Charlene's first song blared from the speakers. She had just walked backstage in time -- half a minute later and she would have missed her opening. Without stopping to catch her breath, she stepped out into the spotlight. She could see the puzzled looks on the face of the lustful men in the audience, who could not figure out why she was wearing such a dirty, ragged old dress in place of the glitzy bikinis under the glamorous costumes that were her trademark.

After twenty-four hours of fitful sensuous pleasure between hours of hard slogging, of allowing her self to be sexually used by men she had just met, of fucking with men she loved, feared or disdained, of feeling vulnerable on the street and indomitable on her back, of being made into a dripping sloppy mess by her own lust and her willingness to be the receptacle for men's semen, Charlene danced her story.

She let herself go. She danced as she had never danced before, telling the story of the day in her movements. She danced a dance of awakening to surprise, of walking down the street furtively, of showing her round, luscious tits and being fondled. She pulled the stretched top of her knit dress down and let her boobs hang, swaying to the rhythm of her swinging hips. She rucked up her dress, tantalizing the audience with her thighs like she tantalized Enrique. She exposed her ass and danced like she was showing off for him climbing those stairs. She pulled up her skirt and flashed her twat, like she flashed it dropping from the fire escape. She danced a whole set this way and still had her dress on, stretched out of shape on top, clinging to her body around the waist, filthy with dirt and smelly with juices.

The men in the first row caught the scent. As she paused, waiting for the next set, she noticed them sniffing the air. She looked over their heads and saw that every man in the place was staring at her, lust in his eyes. Nobody spoke -- the room was dead quiet when the music stopped. The DJ, who normally wouldn't shut up, didn't say a word. In every male crotch she could see she could make out the outlines of a hard-on. A fine film of sweat covered her and she felt excited. She felt excited between her legs.

The music started again, a different set for a different dancer but she had to improvise. Fortunately, this music was soulful and slower, chosen by a dancer who loved to act out a slow fuck onstage. Charlene pulled off her dirty, smelly dress and showed her fine nude body. She danced for the sex-hungry men by showing what it was like to screw a young man she'd fallen for. When the music heated up, she showed the audience what it felt like to be impaled on a gigantic pole and to come with no spare room to move her twat. As the last number wound down, she pantomined what it was like to droop with fatigue but get one last sexual surge, to be handled front and back, out of control, in the hands of others. The music wound to a conclusion and left her standing there, panting, bowing to the audience, tits dangling when she bowed, feeling hornier than she ever remembered being in public. She looked out and saw sex-hunger, wet spots, and unconcealed desire.

Pole dancing and striptease are arts. This was fine art, a balletic tribute to the sexual body.

The crowd was spellbound. A couple of seconds of silence passed, then the men went crazy. They clapped their hands. They stamped their feet. They whistled. They unzipped and pulled out their dicks to wave at her. It was pandemonium.

After her last set, about one o'clock in the morning, Charlene threw to Billy the sweat-soaked, cum-stained brown knit dress she had pulled off for the last time. Billy caught it and nodded and Charlene knew that it would never be washed again. It would be framed and mounted on the wall of the club for all to see, just as she had been mounted so often today and walked exposed in the streets for all to see.

She stepped down from the stage without going to her dressing room. Naked, sweating, exhausted from dancing and from the physical and sexual demands of this extraordinary day, she stepped into the packed throng of excited, aroused, and appreciative men. Something very strange happened next. The horny, boisterous men became quiet. Each of them had been moved by her performances. Her dances had told them a story through body movement that they could not understand in detail but that they could only comprehend sexually. Quietly, almost hushed, the men showed their attraction and their affection by gently caressing her body as she passed. At the far end of the club was her destination.

The dude waited for her standing by the door, trenchcoat in over his arm and his cock hanging out of his pants, just like she saw him the first time.

"That was fabulous, my dear," he said. "Shall we go back to the hotel and do it again?"

"Lead the way," she said, putting on his trenchcoat to cover her nakedness. "This time I want breakfast."