Considerate Boyfriend Pt. 03

Sydney rose then, folded up her chair and plucked the banana peel up before marching off to the dressing room and disappearing. I stared at the plywood door and marveled that she had accomplished so much in the past twenty minutes without removing a single stitch of her clothing. Tonight was no accident, I decided. I suspected Betsy and Sydney had been plotting and planning all week for their 'prom night.'

There was a longer than expected lull before Betsy came onstage to replace her daughter. I don't like to say disparaging things as a rule, but the patrons in the bar were being rather naïve. While Betsy and Sydney were pushing what I considered the legal boundaries for even the most daring of dancers, almost to a man, these fellows had been entirely swept away by their lewd shenanigans. Beer orders picked up as they awaited Betsy's return and a line formed at the men's room. Apparently, all these randy men would rather gawk at two beautiful, scantily clad women as they made a glorious show of sucking fingers and gobbling bananas than they would piss or drink beer. Hell, I fell into that category too!

While I waited to see what devious scheme Betsy was holding tucked away in her panties, I ordered another beer and promised myself I'd hit the head just as soon as the line got shorter. I began to think this pause in the dancing was a part of the plan too. Vera was selling a lot of beer at the moment and the spirits of this entire crowd was definitely on the rise.

Betsy appeared from the dressing room suddenly, marched straight to the jukebox, her high heels clicking all the way, and selected the songs she would dance to. She waited for the first song to begin with her lovely backside thrust out for all to see as she leaned over the jukebox. She was presenting a breathtaking sight for us all. She was wearing the same miniskirt she had worn to torment me earlier in the week. I prayed she was wearing panties - and panties that didn't have an open crotch. She was still wearing stockings, though she had removed all those rustling, flapping dollar bills she'd accumulated during her first dance. Betsy was also wearing a snug, sheer white blouse and a skimpy little bra that had her breasts pushed up high on her chest. The result was an enormous amount of cleavage leaping out of the deep 'V' in her blouse.

The music began to boom and throb, and Betsy's dainty feet and round hips jumped into action. She was a surprisingly agile. Gone was all that hesitation she'd shown in her first appearance. She swayed, she strutted, she pranced - and before the first song had ended, her flimsy blouse lay in a heap in one of the dark recesses at the rear of the stage. In the lacy cups of her saucy pushup bra, her tits each took on a wild life of their own. They jumped, they shuddered, they threatened to liberate themselves completely from the delicate bits of lace and spandex holding them back. Nipples alternately appeared, then disappeared once more, only to jostle into view again when she bent forward or twisted gracefully to entice a new bar patron.

Several men in the audience were already holding dollar bills pinched between index and middle fingers, waiting eagerly for Betsy to French kiss their fingers to orgasm. Betsy ignored them and continued with her erotic dance. Her skimpy bra went flying before the next song ended and there she stood, topless in a miniskirt, heels, stockings and garter belt awaiting the start of more music.

During this lull, she approached Mr. Red Beard, the fellow Sydney had tantalized so with her banana gobbling exercise. I suppose she chose him because he was standing so close to the stage and he still had the wild-eyed, starstruck look in his eyes of a fourteen-year-old teenage virgin who was seeing a real, live nude woman for the first time. Instead of squatting with her legs partially open, she bent at the waist before him, dangling her gorgeous MILF tits in his face. I couldn't see his facial expression from the bar, but I knew he was staring in dumbstruck wonder at those two sweet, round orbs and their spunky, hard nipples. She let him stare for a moment until the jukebox began its next tune.

Betsy's hips began to sway in time to the music as it started up. She said something to him quietly, there was a pause, she spoke again and he began to nod. Mr. Red Beard continued nodding and gazing in wonder at her swaying breasts long after he should have stopped. Betsy smiled, placed both her hands on his shoulders and spoke a few more words softly to him. I noticed his head also began to pivot back and forth as he followed the inviting motion of her tits.

The next thing I knew, Mr. Red Beard was reaching for his wallet and Betsy, hands still braced upon his shoulders, had squatted immediately in front of him. Her knees were parted a bit but only Mr. Red Beard was being given an open view of the heavenly scenery that lay tucked beneath her tiny skirt. He held his money up for her to see and I noticed it appeared to be a larger bill. Betsy smiled, spoke in a hushed voice to him again and he instantly folded the bill into a small square.

They kissed. Betsy wasn't giving him some offhand 'hello grandpa' kiss either. Her kiss caught Mr. Red Beard off-guard. He staggered a bit as her tongue pushed its way into his mouth. He recovered quickly enough, even grasping her shoulder with his free hand and reciprocating with a matching passion. They kissed in this way for a long time until Betsy broke away, whispered something to him, then resumed their kiss. It was as if she had reminded him of something. Mr. Red Beard seemed to snap out of his reverie and the hand containing her tip slipped quietly, cautiously deep into the shadows between her legs. His hand traveled much deeper than the top of her stocking.

The audience began to hoot and howl as his hand traveled deeper and deeper. Suddenly Mr. Red Beard's eyes flew open, he pulled back from their kiss and a shocked smile swept over his face. Betsy smiled faintly, spoke a word or two of encouragement, and then, a distracted, heaven-sent expression washed over her face. The hand between her thighs lingered, making obvious small teasing and poking gestures there in the deep, sweet recesses beneath her skirt. It was obvious to the whole crowd that Mr. Red Beard and Betsy were having a tender moment and some were howling out with approval.

Betsy clearly appreciated his attention. Her hips rolled gently against his hand, and for several seconds, she seemed completely lost in her own pleasure. The music came to an end much too soon for both of them. When they both came to their senses once more, Betsy grasped the wrist between her legs and gently withdrew it, gazed at his fingers and gave them a light peck with her lips. This launched the crowd into more loud hysterics.

Betsy rose, smiled a distant, slightly distracted smile, smoothed the hem of her skirt, gathered her bra and blouse up and strode slowly, gracefully to the dressing room. I still wasn't sure if she had worn panties. For all I knew she might be wearing the naughty black lace open-crotched pair she had teased me with. Two things were certain however, Mr. Red Beard's fingers were coated with Betsy's sweet honey, and the pair had parted company on very friendly terms. I was also positive there was no danger she might lose the tip he had given her.

Sydney emerged three minutes later dressed as my favorite little schoolgirl. Damn, but the upgrades she'd made to this one simple outfit were mind-boggling! A finer, sheerer grade of stockings with lacy tops, an even shorter skirt with sharper pleats, a sheer white blouse over an equally sheer and lacy bra made her look like, well... a dirty old man's wet-dream! Even the high-heeled Mary Jane shoes she'd upgraded to made her look both childlike and steaming-hot sexy! The awed silence interspersed with a few catcalls from the crowd was evidence that the growing crowd in the room approved of her appearance wholeheartedly.

The prime hours for Saturday night strip club traffic were upon us and word of the dePoet mother-daughter strip team had spread. There was almost no elbow room in the place now, the noise level was rising, and Vera was now behind the bar helping Teddy with the increased demand for alcohol. She was smiling and happy as a duck in a puddle.

The music boomed to life and all eyes were suddenly trained on sweet, almost innocent little Sydney. Her dancing was even more sensual, more seductive and carried out with more confidence and fearlessness than it had been last weekend.

Men were already lining up with dollar bills in hand. Unbelievably, she was able to beguile patrons into unbuttoning her blouse for a dollar a button. Her stocking tops were already aflutter with bills before she ever reached for the bra clasp between her pert little breasts. Her nipples were hard, plug-like little things jutting out from her chest even before she shrugged the bra from her shoulders.

Sydney was truly and thoroughly enjoying herself tonight. There wasn't a single bit of doubt or hesitation in all that she did. She had made peace with her own slutty desires. For this one night she happily, completely tapped into the carnal beast within. She wanted men to desire her. She was gleefully taunting every man in this bar tonight, daring them to crave her, lust after her. Unlike her first night in this out-of-the-way little titty bar, I was certain she would have no regrets, only a deep and aching void afterward that could only be filled with a man's cock.

Sydney made an erratic path around and across the stage, dancing for only a few seconds before crouching in front of yet another patron, accepting his gratuity and rewarding him with a deep, heartfelt and lingering kiss to warm the cockles of his heart. When her final song ended, she was still working to receive all the appreciative tips from customers. The tops of her stockings were already filled to overflowing. She did the only thing she could do under the circumstances. She stood, strode quickly to the jukebox, plugged it with money for more music and, while she waited for it to begin, she plucked the bills from her stockings and heaped them up in a pile on the jukebox. As the music started up, she carefully unfastened the top clasp of her little schoolgirl skirt, grinned to us all like an imp and shimmied her way out of this brief bit of pleated material at her hips.

The music began to boom and throb out through the bar, but a sudden but fleeting hush came over the entire crowd. Sydney had indeed chosen to wear underpants, thank God. However, they were completely inadequate for the task of concealing all of that untrimmed and magnificent cotton candy blue bush of hers. Sydney's sweet loins were adorned in a tiny, crisp white satin thong. At first glimpse, the flimsy bit of satin resembled the ribbon used on some exquisite gift box for fine jewelry. There was even a tiny white satin bow affixed along the crest of the waistband at precisely the point where the peak of her delicate pink slit lay concealed.

There were more than a few whimpers and gasps from the audience. Pale blue curls peeked out on every side of her thong. Sydney knew exactly what she was doing and what effect she would have on a room full of horny beer-guzzling men on a Saturday night. She had carefully trimmed her blue shrubbery so that its fringes were smooth, even, and extend in precise, even distances on all three sides of her thong.

Her hips began to roll seductively in time with the music. Men waved money, begging for her attention. She continued her sensual writhing, ignoring all these inducements until a youngish-looking fellow with a bit of a pot-belly stepped forward and began waving a five-dollar bill. Sydney grinned with delight, as if she'd discovered just what she'd been searching for, squatted with legs thrown out wide before him and carefully plucked at the tiny bow on her thong to indicate where she would like his tip.

The young man's eyes followed Sydney's fingers down into the shadowy chasm between her legs. He blushed a vivid crimson like a virgin - but managed to half fumble, half grope his five dollars into her thong. He was so flustered by the sight of her sweet blue bush - and I'm sure the dampness of it, that by the time he extracted his fingers, Sydney was forced to wrestle with him in order to show her gratitude with a heartfelt kiss. In the end, the young man stumbled his way toward the bar grinning from ear to ear and drawing cheers from the crowd.

There was a sudden mad rush as men tugged at their wallets or extracted folded and crumpled wads of bills from pockets in a mad search for the five-dollar price of admission to Sydney's beguiling little garden show. In no time at all her dancing came to an end as a stream of men of all sizes, shapes and ages slipped into position between her stocking-clad knees. Each would wait for Sydney to lift the waistband of her thong before planting their cash in her dewy little flower bed, receiving a heartfelt kiss in gratitude and then yielding their position to the man behind them. Following their kiss, Sydney would hastily extract each new bill, straighten it and fold it over the thong's string waistband along her hips. I imagined each and every one of those bills was a damp little mess after a dip in her sweet blue lagoon.

Both mother and daughter continued in this way, taking turns tantalizing their audience with their dancing and their lurid antics for more than an hour. Much of their behavior went well beyond the normally accepted behavior for strippers. Some of it - like making a mildly orgasmic show of it each time a customer took their time to slip a bill deep beneath their skirt or down inside their panties - was downright obscene and probably illegal in a small-town jurisdiction like this. Their shenanigans were raking in an amazing amount in tips. The only limit seemed to be the capacity of their underpants (at least, I hoped their tips were being deposited in their panties!) to hold it all. As the night wore on and the crowd grew rowdier, Betsy and Sydney took to ducking into the dressing room for a few seconds between songs. I assumed they were busy extracting all the money they were accumulating.

It was already growing later in the evening than I had expected Betsy and Sydney to stay. I supposed they were both enjoying themselves too much to stop yet. All the same, I continued to be on the alert for the prearranged signal that their performances were coming to an end. We had agreed they would each make a particular pair of subtle but suggestive movements with their hips and then their lips as they turned away from the jukebox so that I would know when to join them outside.

Betsy emerged from the dressing room clad in a new outfit I hadn't seen before. Sheer was the only word I could use to describe it. The dress was form-hugging and made of a smoky-black material only slightly less sheer than the nylon material of her stockings. It was slung with a strap over one shoulder. The hem ended where her stockings began. I wasn't sure if it was a dress or a negligee. Dress or negligee, she was clearly not wearing a bra and we could all see her panties. She fed the jukebox and stepped into the spotlight.

It was instantly obvious that her panties were also sheer. I had stewed and fretted all week long over how far Betsy might take her wanton behavior and disregard for the law. Now as I gazed at the front of her dress, I realized my worst fears were coming true. There, peeking through her dress and her panties was the clear, lovely and unmistakable cleft of her womanhood staring back at us all. At some time since she had last exposed herself to me, Betsy had shaved even her landing strip away. I couldn't hear sirens yet, but I knew they would be coming. She couldn't put her smooth-shaven pussy on display like this in a strip bar and get away with it, could she?

Betsy began her dancing and wasted very little time in her dress or negligee or whatever it was. She wriggled seductively as she eased it up over her hips, then made a show of playfully tugging at it when her pert, luscious boobs caught and resisted her upward tugs. Her tits jiggled and bounced excitedly, as if relieved to be set free at last.

What followed during the next three songs could not be called dancing. There is no polite way to describe the madness which followed. Betsy deliberately and repeatedly got herself kissed, fondled and finger-fucked. The first fellow to catch her eye was waving a higher denomination bill. I could only tell from this distance that it was not a single. She squatted before him, smiled seductively, and carefully guided his hand, not to her stocking, but directly to her smooth belly and the top of her panties.

He quickly folded up his tip and then, for all to see, the customer's stubby fingers slipped into her panties, snaking their way ever deeper until his fingertips disappeared entirely from sight. His wrist wrangled from one side to the other and Betsy's eyes suddenly drifted skyward with a dreamy, far-off gaze. When the customer's fingers could go no deeper, Betsy clutched at his wrist and gently, lovingly twisted it slightly between her legs before gently, teasingly withdrawing his glistening fingers from her panties. She held his hand up for all to see and smiled faintly as several men in the crowd let out low, animal-like groans.

She repeated this same lewd scene with several more men over the next few minutes. Each time, she would hold the man's moist fingers up for all to see, smile a faintly aroused smile, rise slowly and move on to the next customer who was eager to give her his large tip. I never saw a single trace of the bills these randy men offered her once Betsy extracted their hands. The whole scene took on a rather surreal air. Though I was too far away to identify the denominations of the bills customers were depositing in her little cavern, she was certainly giving new meaning to the term 'money-maker.' I was so mesmerized by her lewd performance that I lost count of the number of men who had stuffed bills in her cozy little safe deposit box. When the jukebox stopped playing her music, Betsy paused her performance only long enough to put two more songs on. She repeated this lewd scene several times over the next few minutes. Each time a hand would slip down inside her sheer panties, a faraway, enthralled expression swept over her sweet face and her legs would willingly, voluntarily spread just a bit wider to receive the generous tip being tucked away deep in the cozy recesses of her moist safe deposit box.

Betsy had quickly deepened my admiration for her and her brazen skills as a MILF. I guessed that by now at least a dozen men had offered their appreciation to Betsy for her skills as a dancer. I was positive her hot pocket had to be full to the point of overflowing by now. Still, the music continued and she strode proudly, boldly to crouch before yet another inebriated customer waving what I took to be a ten- or twenty-dollar bill, place a hand upon his shoulder, pluck at the front of her sheer panties and wait for him to show his appreciation.

The only noticeable changes in this ritual seemed to be the amount of effort and time needed for the customer to deposit her tip. Betsy was clearly enjoying all the extra effort this required. That faraway look in her eyes as this customer's fingers fidgeted inside her panties lasted longer and the dreamy distance she seemed to envision as her head rolled back absentmindedly told everyone in the room that sweet Betsy would probably have done every bit of her dancing free of charge now. Her hips even began to roll against his fingers.

Only the conclusion of the song saved her. Even after the song came to an end, Betsy continued to behave like a wanton slut impaled on his fingers, completely lost in her own selfish pleasure. Suddenly though, she seemed to tense slightly and then to draw herself away from the all-encompassing pleasure of his dallying hand. She drew his hand up in the air for all to see, then grudgingly gave his fingers a gentle kiss before rising, stooping to retrieve her filmy dress and finally, flouncing her way slowly to the dressing room door. I suspected her slow walk was partly due to the cache of bills she had tucked away between her legs.