Semper F***

She strutted towards me, then spun away to the pole again, doing a few turns on it. Again she leaned sexily against the pole, facing me. This time, she flashed me a tit. She ran her finger over her nipple, once up once down, then stashed it away again and walked a sexy walk towards me. She ran her fingers through my hair... then down my shoulders...down to my crotch, and then my knees. I don't know if the audience could tell, but she did in fact brush my erection on the way down.

She turned, and gently sat down on my lap, looking over her shoulder, using it to entice me and keep me from getting too close at the same time. Then she bent over, legs wide, and pressed her butt into my crotch—and buffed my crotch with her butt. I know she felt the stiffy in my pants. Suddenly she stood, turned her side to me, showed me the zipper of the skirt, unzipped it while I watched, then let it fall to the floor while spinning out to the pole again. In her G-string now, she did so high kicks and leg work on the pole. When she finished, she was sitting, on the floor, legs straight out and far apart, but partly hidden behind the dance pole. She peeked around the pole at me, and then licked it, slowly, like it was an oversized penis. I started to squirm in my chair—man, teasing me like this, I wanted her, never mind that I'd just finished making love to her.

She danced over to me again, sitting back in my lap, this time putting her arm around me and thrusting her cleavage into my face. She taunted my by grinding it around slowly. Then she went behind me where I couldn't see her. She was playing hide and seek with me, appearing on one side then ducking away. I couldn't see that the whole time she was undoing her corset. Bringing her arms in close to her body to hold it up, she now appeared right over me. I tilted my head up, and she kissed my forehead. Then everything went white, because the deposited the corset on top of my head and spun out to the pole.

I flicked my neck to rid the corset, and watched her dance topless by the pole. The club was full, but she was focused only on me as she danced. Eventually she made her way back over to me, dancing around me at first, teasing my with glimpses of her breasts then turning away. Then she suddenly stopped right in front of me, hands on my shoulders, gently pressing me down. She arched her back, thrust her chest out at me, and slowly rubbed her breasts down the front of my shirt. Then she popped back up so that my face was between them, and with quick jerks of her shoulder she slapped her breasts gently against my cheeks, smack-smack-smack-smack. Then she whirled and pirouetted out to the pole again. When she came back, she was playing games with her G-string—stretching it out of place, yet still keeping her crotch area covered. She undid one side clasp an inch from my face, letting the string snap me gently when it let go. Then she returned to the pole, one string holding her panties on.

With her back to the pole again, she reached up while sliding down. When she was in a deep knee bend, she reached to the side and unclasped the fabric. She pulled off the G-string, helicoptered it over her head a couple times, then let it go flying, drawing appreciative whistles from the crowd. She stayed that way, knees bent and spread apart, biting her fingertip like an inquisitive virgin. She made no effort to hide her pussy; she just let me stare at it, inviting me, her lips were even slightly parted from her knees being so far apart. It was a fantasy fulfilled from the audience too—no need to stare and hope to catch peeks of snatch because she was letting it all hang out, so to speak. In her mind just dancing for me, and she wanted me to have a nice, long, lusty look at her sex, and everyone else was just along for the ride.

She stood up, very slowly, bending forward then straightening up to accentuate her tits. Then she did that sexy walk, almost in slow motion, towards me. She stood in front of me. She kicked her leg up high and held it for a moment, so her snatch was right in my face. Then she put it down, and stood over me in the chair, one leg to each side. She gently brushed her crotch against me as she slid down me. When she was sitting on my lap, she arched her back and leaned forward; if I hadn't had those damn pants on, she'd have lowered her pussy right onto my straining dick. Then she put her arms around me in exaggerated fashion, flipped her hair back, then slowly moved her mouth closer and closer to mine until we kissed. Then the lights went black.

There was a melee of applause. The house lights came back on, but we were still sitting on the chair, kissing. I was a bit embarrassed as she stood up; I stood and took the chair backstage while she did one last bow for the crowd. The audience was throwing money onto the stage; it was the hottest dance anyone had ever seen. Too hot, in fact. The owner was standing outside the dressing room before we got there.

"Aleska," he said, kissing her on each cheek euro-style, "I've been in this business for 25 years, and that was THE hottest dance I've ever seen."

"Sank you," she said, unimpressed.

"Too hot, I'm afraid," he replied, "you crossed the line, I think. I expect the cops will be here any minute to shut us down."

"Oh...I so sorry..." she flushed. It had never occurred to her that she might run afoul of decency laws—things were so different in Europe. In her mind she was just dancing for me, and there happened to be an audience in the darkened background.

"No sweat it, doll," he said, "that show was worth it—and the notoriety we'll get from the story in the paper will be good for business. But you," he said, pointing his smoking cigar our way, "need to get out of here, pronto."

"OK, but I have show tomorrow..." she said.

"No you don't," he said, "tomorrow's show is canceled. If you show up here, the cops will arrest you for sure. We're good—don't worry about it. Grab your stuff, and try to get the hell out of here before the pigs do. There's a limo waiting out back. GO!"

"OK...thank you," she sputtered, kissing him on the cheeks again as we raced to the limo. I was afraid they might come after her at the hotel, so she checked out, and I checked in across the street under my name. We went in, shut the door, jumped into bed—and stayed there for the whole next day since, since we didn't have any place we needed to go. We just called room service when we got hungry, talked and got to know each other deeper when my dick needed a rest, and spent the rest of time engaging unbridled carnality.

I thought I was going to be career military, but now I'm not sure if I'm going to re-up when my tour is over in six months. I obviously wouldn't volunteer for war zone duty anymore, but I also wouldn't want to, pardon the pun, drag Aleska to Alaska because of the military. Besides, she makes a lot more money than I do (although I'm the one with health insurance!). I don't want to be a scumbag who lives off his wife, either. And we both know the shelf life of a porn star is very short—by not doing hardcore, her star has already begun to lose its luster. Her accent will all but squelch any chance she might have had at crossing over to mainstream work, except maybe as a body double. She's a good dancer, but I'm not sure she's good enough to work the hotel shows in Vegas. Aleska suggested I talk with Nick about maybe learning how to take pictures from him so I could do shoots for her. Or maybe I could learn web design—although I think I'd have a hard time creating pages to showcase my wife's naked body. Who knows—a lot can happen in three years, maybe we'll be tired of each other by then, and she'll want to divorce me when she gets her green card. But right now, I can honestly say I'm in love with a world-renowned sex symbol—I'm going to do everything I can to make it last as long as I can.

Sometimes when we go places, people will recognize Aleska and stop to talk to her. The first thing she always does is introduce me, with the emphasis on the word HUSBAND. Nine times out of ten, the next words out the guy's mouth will be "you lucky bastard." There was a time when I wasn't so sure. But now, I always answer in the same way:

"You're goddamn right I am!"