Entertaining at Large Ch. 08

'Knock 'em dead.'

'I intend to. Let's go and put the customers out of their misery.'

I scooted around the edge of the room to get to the stage from the back. His jokes were really poor but the crowd were lapping them up. He was in the middle of a complicated tale about a kid who desperately wanted a sister. There were a few calls of "get off", followed by a lot more of "get 'em off" when I stepped up behind him. I put my finger to my lips.

'The next day Santa wrote back saying all right then you send me your mum and I'll take care of it.'

He was leaning on the mic stand and looked like he was settled in for a long session. There were cheers when I tapped him on the shoulder. The look on his face got a bigger laugh than his joke. I kissed him on the cheek; he grinned.

'OK you lot settle down. I can see we have someone here who can wait no longer to get her knockers out.'

That the crowd liked; the cheer was loud, the whistles ear-splitting.

'It's our Suzette. Lots of you will have seen her before. Those who haven't let me tell you, you're in for a treat.'

I curtsied, quite flattered at the appreciation coming from the floor. I could see Mr J sitting front and centre. He had Jason with him and a couple of the lads I remembered seeing at the door when we came in. I blew them all a kiss. Everyone liked that. George was holding up his hand for quiet.

'Before I let her loose on you rabble I've a personal word of appreciation.'

I didn't like the sound of that and moved closer to him ready to grab the mic if necessary. He threw an arm round my waist; I groaned as his strength and the corset sent spasms down my body.

'Snog a stripper was Suzette's idea. I know a lot of you have been enjoying it, I can see the lipstick smears in a lot of places they shouldn't be. All the cash is going to the women's refuge and they need a lot more.'

There was another cheer. A couple of women there with their husbands stood up and waved at me, blowing kisses. I waved back. George leaned down and pretended I was saying something.

'So to that end Suzette has selflessly agreed that at the end of her act she'll suck anyone off for fifty quid.'

The place went crazy. Virtually everyone was on their feet, waving their arms, whistling. I noticed a couple of guys checking their wallets. When George leaned down to me again I slapped his face and made a grab for the mic. He wouldn't let go and I was virtually lifted off my feet when he stood.

'Sorry, sorry. A correction. Hold on, quiet down.'

He waved a hand and kept calling for silence, but it was still a minute or two before the noise subsided enough for him to be heard. He waited a few more seconds until the place was almost still. He coughed and tried to look repentant, he kept taking side-glances at me and nodding.

'Sorry lads, and of course the women who are in tonight - nice to see so many of you. That was inappropriate.'

He coughed again and paused to let the sounds of disbelief coming from the regulars ebb away. A grin spread across his face.

'She said seventy five and not a penny less.'

The place went wild again. This time there was a lot more laughter than before. Even I had to smile. He did have comic timing when he wanted to use it. It didn't stop me punching him in the arm though and this time when I grabbed the microphone he let me have it. I took his arm to stop him leaving the stage and made my own calls for quiet. I guess people wanted to know how I was going to respond and shut up pretty quickly.

'You all know George.'

There were knowing cries from the regulars. I caught a glimpse of Mandy standing by the music system. She was lapping this up.

'He's been called many things.'

I let another cheer go for a few seconds.'

'Lying bastard; fat freak; cheating no-good shit. These are a few of the nicer ones.'

I was letting the boys toss in their appreciation and suggestions between phrases. George was just grinning.

'"Foul-mouthed ingrate" is my personal favourite. In fact, I doubt any of us would come here if it wasn't for the beer. And of course, the company.'

I jiggled my hands under my boobs. They liked that and it took a few moments for things to settle down again.

'Some of you will have heard what happened here a couple of days ago. If you haven't, ask a regular. Suffice it to say George was heroic. So, fatso, this one's for you.'

I nodded to Mandy and as Keith Richards' first crashing chords announced "Street Fighting Man" I handed him back the mic and, whilst leaning against him, raised my leg slowly up his body. It was less pole- more bouncy-castle dancing. Then I was off.

Everyone reckons they do a good Mick Jagger impersonation. I knew mine was brilliant. I had been listening to their stuff constantly for the past few days. First my dad's old LPs which I took over to Mr J's, then on downloads at home, on my bike commute and even in the office. I owned the stage. I strutted and preened. Did a twerking sideways shuffle, not bad in high heels, punched my fist and threw out my hips. I was high on it.

Whilst I had been listening to the tacks and dancing around everywhere over the past few days, the one thing I hadn't done was work out any kind of routine. I only worried about that for a second or two at the start because this turned out to be more of a community event than a striptease.

There were blokes all over the pub joining in the singing, one or two even had their eyes closed. When the first chorus came round the shouts of "street fighting man" in mock-London accents shook the windows. George started his own little dance; Mick and the boys would probably be forced to sue if anyone graced it with the term impersonation. The guys loved him though, especially when he stuck his bum out and tried twerking himself.

The next time the line "in sleepy London town there ain't no place for..." came around, someone shouted out,

'Stuff those southerners George, you're always welcome here.'

That brought a huge cheer. Almost as big as the one he got when he grabbed me by the hips as I backed into him shaking my arse and started to mock-fuck me. His grip was firm. It was a good job it was. The powerful thrusts as he drove into me knocked me off my feet. Literally. For a few seconds I was being held off the ground by George's solid hands. If he hadn't I would have been propelled across the room and into the wall.

I got a little concerned when I felt him feeling under my dress. I was pretty sure there was something in the license about not screwing on stage, though had he tried I might even have let him. I was feeling drunk - I had a fleeting thought about all the alcohol-sodden saliva I must have swallowed for charity. I was relieved when I felt him withdraw his hand and the petticoats went with it. We did a duet during the instrumental section; him waving the frilly white froth in front of his stomach, me flashing the punters with front and rear views of the sheer panties.

I was feeling wet all over. The exertions were making me sweat and I could feel small rivulets trailing down my body inside the corset. I could only imagine how my snatch looked under the strong lights. I was soaking, I would have guessed the reflections off my wet pussy was sending beams of light all over the room. I slowed my gyrating to get the apron off and threw it to Mr J. He blew me a kiss which was nice.

I leaned back against George and asked him to unzip me. How, or why, he interpreted that as an invitation to stroke my tits was not clear to me but after enjoying the sensation for a time I moved his hands towards my back. To give him his due, he did a fair job of unzipping me given that I didn't stop wriggling and wiggling through the whole process. I even thought I felt a touch of an erection through the folds of fat at one point. I stepped out of the dress as the track wound down, did one last strut across the stage then sprinted back and threw myself onto him.

I had both legs around his belly, me arms around his neck and I kissed him on the mouth. We were both breathing too heavily to risk suction but the softness, dampness and enthusiasm made up for that. He was holding me up in the palm of one hand and I pressed down on the strong fingers demanding he squeeze. He didn't let me down and I was positively shaking when the track drained away and I lowered my feet to the floor.

George waved both arms aloft to acknowledge the cheers. I swung one of mine in a wide arc to give him an almighty smack on the arse to get him off the stage. He pretended to notice, though I doubt it made any impression. He scurried off to the pint Mandy had put at the edge of the bar.

The rap and bass intro at the start of "I'm Free" only required me to stretch out my arms and sway from the waist. I used the time to try and get some breath back. I'm at least forty years younger than Mick, but, I told myself, there's no way I could keep up that level of energy for two hours. Respect.

Mr J was waiting at the foot of the stage offering a hand to help me down. I remembered as I hit the floor and started to push through the press crowded to the front that last time the first strip was stage only. I didn't hear any objections and anyway I needed to touch and be touched. I stroked faces and felt hands on my bum as I moved through to the centre of the room.

A new group of vocalists took the lead as the eighties band got into their stride. I made a point of cheek-kissing the most enthusiastic of them when we got to "love me, hold me". They seemed to like it. The audience sorted themselves out into a wide circle encompassing about ten tables and I sort of sashayed around them with outstretched arms as the repetitive beat pounded out. I was quite happy with the kissing, the bum stroking and the occasional slap on my derrière. Some ground rules needed to be established with the "I'm Free" bit though. A couple of the guys seemed to interpret "love me, hold me" as an excuse to pick me up bodily and rub me against their hard-ons. I'm not saying it wasn't pleasant, but it sort-of spoiled the rhythm of the dance.

I found Matt sitting at a table in the middle of the room. His eyes were shining and he nudged the guy sitting with him as I pointed at him and snaked over. I kissed him on the mouth and then whispered for him to grab one end of the corset strings. It took him a while as I ground on his lap. When I was sure he had a grip I stood and took a step across the aisle. The drinker nearest me was a woman about forty. She was on her own though the table was full of half-finished glasses. She went bright red when I handed her the other end of the knot and tried to cover her face.

I slowly moved away from them in time with the music and felt the unraveling behind me. It took no time for the loops to fall away and I turned to take the string back with a wiggle of my bum to Matt and a blown kiss to the woman. The cheer she got mortified her and after looking round for any means of escape just covered her face again and lowered her head to the table. I strutted the perimeter of the audience fumbling with the cross-tie until it came loose and then started trying to loosen up the bindings which ran through eyes in the corset itself.

It was impossible to do it backwards and keep time with the music. So I did what any sensible stripper would do: picked a nice-ish looking guy in the crowd, pressed my bottom against his hard cock, wiggled a few times and let him deal with the strings. He did a good job, I felt like I was being released from a punishment as the stays loosened around my middle and my breathing returned to something-like normality.

The singers stopped as we got to the second rap-interlude on the track and I knew it was time to get back to the stage. The clips on the front of the corset came undone easily now the back was loose and I felt my boobs sag back to their normal position as I undid the last one. I extended the two wings of the rigid garment with my back to most of the crowd as I reached the foot of the stage. I shook my hips against it a few times; I didn't want complaints from burlesque-purists and I had watched a lot of performers on YouTube over the past few months. I finished by holding it in the air so people at the back could see they weren't being cheated, then folded it over Mr J's arm before accepting his hand back onto the stage.

The Soup Dragons did their bit with their extended fade. I still had time to do a passable take-off of a sixties dolly-bird disco dance; my new haircut was perfect for that. My bra and panties left little to the imagination, better say nothing; I had chosen them precisely for that reason. The boys could see what they were getting for their money as I stopped and let Charlie Watt's percussion introduction to "Sympathy for the Devil" kick off the finale. I gave a few jerks as Mick's initial yelps enhanced the beat and got ready for the song-proper to start.

This was the only part I had rehearsed. On "Please allow me to introduce myself", I stood sideways to the main body of the crowd, hands on hips and staring straight at them barely moving. At "I'm a man" I hooked a thumb on the waist of my panties, pulled them forward, looked down, turned back and shook my head. "Of wealth and taste" saw me running a finger over my pussy lips, pulling it back and sticking it in my mouth. The timing was perfect. I savoured the flavour of myself as whistles, barked laughter and cheers broke out everywhere. I caught Mr J's eye and mouthed "crude" to remind him of our earlier conversation.

There was no singing to this one. Anyone who can remember all the lyrics must be a real nerd. And tonight was not nerd-night. I basked in the sweaty lust coming at me from the floor and went back to a less-energetic Jagger impersonation. The song was perfect. The lyric line is steady with some complicated changes in beat to accommodate the words, but underneath the warp-speed bass and percussion line was driving me crazy. I broke up macho-strutting and posing - nods to Mick - with bursts of frenzied dancing as I tried to keep up with Charlie's understated drumming.

I virtually tore off my bra when the "oo, oo" backing-singing started about one-third in. I stretched out my arms and kept pushing them up in time with the music, urging everyone to join in. The veteran Stones fans took the lead, it didn't take the younger set long to pick up the complexity of the backing lyrics and soon the whole place was rocking. It was great to see them yelling their lungs out, every now and then glancing at those standing around them to make sure they weren't the only ones making fools of themselves. Everyone was smiling at each other and then looking back at me. I didn't have to do much to keep the vibe going so I unleashed my inner-Mick.

I was in another world. Say what you like about those pensioners, but they sure knew how to knock out great tit-shaking tunes. I was bouncing mine around so much I was sure something was going to get bruised. But I didn't care. In a moment of sensibility I pulled Mr J and Jason up on stage so I had someone to lean on while I got the rest of my kit off. It wasn't sophisticated, I just needed to get naked as quickly as possible. I gave Jason my panties as a souvenir, something to show Tracy later, and tucked the garter into Mr J's suit pocket. The suspender belt and stockings just went out into the crowd and I pushed my helpers off after them. This was my time and I didn't want anyone getting in the way.

There's a point in the song when the oo-oos go up an octave. From then on I was just jumping up and down in time with the music, or running up and down the small stage threatening to crowd surf. It was more like an exercise class than a dance routine. They didn't care and neither did I. Everyone was having a great time.

I was, a la Mick, clutching my groin at various points during my performance and I could definitely feel an orgasm building. The butterflies had tired themselves out ages before and all I was getting now was industrial-quality pulsing. The temptation to just stop and masturbate myself into ecstasy was almost overwhelming. Looking out into the crowd to try and pick out someone to fuck was no use. It was either all of them or none of them, and even I wasn't that far gone.

I didn't know whether to feel a bit down, or relieved, when eventually the fade began to kick in. I was beginning to flag and got through the closing minute or two on pure adrenalin. When the noise in the bar finally overcame the sound from the speakers I just stood hands on knees, enjoying the sensation of corset-free deep breathing and trying not to throw up.

I made a supreme effort to raise my head and look out at the reaction. All I could see was red, sweaty faces and clapping hands. Mates were elbowing each other and nodding appreciation, whistles were coming from everywhere. When someone shouted "more" I managed to raise a weak arm and flap a limp wrist at them. Mr J was the only one sitting down. He was beaming up at my and gave me two thumbs up when he caught my eye. I straightened up and tried to work out what to do next.

George came to my rescue. His voice boomed out as the adulation began to ebb. Even then he had to shout through the mic to make himself heard.

'Amazing or what? Suzette. Let's hear it.'

I looked over to where he was standing at the side of the bar. Mandy was next to him clapping. Scarlett blew me a kiss and then waggled her tongue out suggestively. I must have looked as lost as I felt.

'Come on you lot let the girl down. You can show your thanks in a more traditional way as she goes round with the jug. Suzette.'

There was renewed energy in the clapping which had never really stopped. At least I knew now what I had to do. I took Mr J's hand and almost fell off the stage he handed me a glass and shouted.

'Water.'

I gulped it down in one and wiped my hand across my mouth. I was starting to come round a bit. He took the empty glass and replaced it with a small towel - goodness only knows where that came from. I rubbed my face vigorously and began to feel alive again.

'Don't worry. Not that you deserve it, but she'll be back on again after midnight. So hands in pockets and make sure there's plenty of notes in that glass. I'll be checking.'

Mr J had the pint glass at the ready and pushed me out into the melee. JJ Cale came over the speakers. "After Midnight". Not subtle George, not subtle at all. But the soothing hum of his voice was just what I needed. Everyone seemed to chill. There was a notable exodus to the toilets and bar, but dozens of sweaty men wanted selfies and progress was slow. It was the same etiquette as before; plenty of hands on my bum and more than a few thumb-strokes on a boob from an arm thrown round me for the close-ups. Just enough to keep my buzz going.

A couple of women my age asked if it was OK to pose with their tongues on my nipples. Their boyfriends/husbands seemed to have problems holding their hands still as they tried to get us all in.

'Looks like they're ready to give you a good time tonight.'

'Wanna join us?'

We laughed together and I kissed them both on the cheeks before their men took their places. I thrust out my boobs to give them a clearer target to aim at. They seemed more shy than their partners and I had to pull their heads in while the women giggled.

'I think those two are gagging for a foursome boys.'

I whispered to them. The fatter one put the fiver he was holding back into his wallet and drew out a twenty. I thought that definitely deserved a kiss each.

Others took my interchange with the two couples as permission to go further. The stolen kisses got closer to my mouth and most guys copped a more-or-less surreptitious feel of my boobs as we posed together. Mr J ferried full jugs back to the bar and my nipples were now permanently hard. I stopped sitting on laps and grinding myself down on erections when, as I was being passed from one youngish man to his mate at a table near the back a finger was slipped straight into me. I gasped at the suddenness of if and let out an involuntary groan. I jumped up immediately. If I'd stayed an instant longer I would not have got up until he made me cum. I smiled down at him as he said he'd never wash his hands again.