“Oh Amy, my love!! The show is begun!” I hurried to run a brush thru my hair; I hit a snag and cursed. I, like many others, love my long wavy hair, but maintenance is not its main asset. “You are going to miss out on all the fun!!” I picked up my favorite lipstick, but pictured having to go to a restaurant with a horrible red rush job and said screw it, leaving it on the counter. “Hurry, hurry, hurry, mascara on one eye, no rouge, hurry, hurry, hurry,” my satanic boyfriend, Dan, chanted.

I scurried through my apartment, dodging the chair. It was foolish how easily I let TV get me so flustered. I flopped on the couch next to him, my momentum slamming me into him. I’m not a big girl, so the force of impact shook me. He naturally took advantage kissing me, his tongue forcefully sampling mine as a hand slid up to cup one of my tits. He gave a sharp tug on a nipple to make me gasp before letting me go to catch my breath. He tugged on the other one so they would protrude evenly.

They were just introducing the couples. There were two white couples (one blonde, one brunette), a black couple, and an Asian woman with a white man. Mixed couples only happen on the more recent versions. I had missed that, but Dan always picks up on subtle alterations such as that. He says he masters “the unspoken undercurrents.” I studied each woman carefully; I always try to pick out the one he likes the best. I’ve slowly gotten better at it. After all a girl should know what her man likes. I mean any girl knows guys like to fuck, but if you never learn more a breakup shortly follows.

“New look?”

“Stuff it.” He was ribbing me yet again, and he knew how serious I took this. He jokes he could never trust me enough to take me on the real show. Bob Eubanks came out. When Dan first suggested we watch “The Newlywed Game” together early in our relationship I thought we would be over quick. I mean come on, “The Newlywed Game!?” I’m a modern girl. Yet now it is a pre-date tradition I insist upon. It is fun and I learn more in one half hour than I would in a year otherwise. Occasionally I get the sense he is getting tired of it, but humors me. Once, when there was a time conflict he suggested we could tape it and watch it later. I’m not proud of how I reacted, but he never suggested it again.

Bob read the rules and the wives went off stage. I handed Dan the pad. I glanced at him. He looked good in a black jacket and three tone blue shirt. “Is that the shirt we bought Tuesday?”

He looked down distracted. “Yeah, I guess. I don’t really know; that’s your department.”

That was one of the things I love about him. When I first met him, he wore basic block colors on the grounds that clothes should fade into the background of his personality. But he let me dress him because he did not care. He is willing to shop with me, although only for short trips. He even comments on trips for me, not sane comments, but it’s a start. In the two years we have been together he has only shopped for himself once, and that was only for some boxers when we first met. He always buys new underwear when he starts a relationship, some sort of odd personal tradition. Hell, I even pick his haircut. All my girlfriends are very jealous. In truth it is not a perfect fantasy, he does not really care about style so everything has to be low maintenance.

“What is the one thing, besides the bathroom, she wishes you did not share?” Bob asked the assorted husbands. Dan chewed on the end of his pen a bit before scribbling something on his pad. I listened to the answers the TV husbands gave. This was a problem we ran into sometimes. We obviously were not married, we don’t even live together. None of their answers made any sense for us. I could not come up with an answer. I could tell Dan struggled too even though he had four times the time the other did. We almost never won because of these problems. We had talked about moving in together, but neither of us was willing to leave our neighborhood. Which is just stupid. One of us ends up staying over at the other’s five or six nights a week.

Bob was going on to the next question; I would have to come up with something on the spot. “What is your wife’s number one turn on and turn off.” Well turn on was easy, but turn off was substantially harder. Dan has my number down cold, all he has to do is talk or look at me in a certain way and I melt and do whatever he wants. The end result of course is that we, to put it bluntly, fuck all the time. He also commented that there did not seem to be anything I did not like. He finished quickly and gave me his “I know something you don’t know” smile and a quick eyebrow jerk when he saw I was surprised. Arrogant shit. I should not really complain; he is strong earner as a stock broker. I have my own money, but a woman can be proud of reeling in a man who makes some green. Hey, I’m not immune to the society I was raised in.

“Are you paying attention?”


“You’re missing the question.”

I turned my attention back to the TV, but Bob had finished. I tried to piece together that the question was while Dan wrote. I could not get anywhere, they were talking about Henry VIII, but then one said something about Henry XVI. Were there that many Henry’s? Dan would know, he was good at trivia, but I was stuck. Fortunately husband number four did not understand. “This is an intelligence test. If your wife saw Henry VIII twice would she come home and tell you she saw Henry VIII twice or Henry XVI?” That made no sense. The show went to commercial.

“I think we’re boned.”

“Have faith, they are only five points.”

“Thanks Bob.”

I stuck my tongue out at him. He lunged, I pulled back, but he got me. He stuck his face into mine. “At least I pay attention.” He kissed me and I felt a telltale lump of potential pleasure on my tummy. I struck out with my legs to rock my whole body under him. The asshole pulled back, he was just toying with me just as a cat does with a mouse. He made a face and cocked his head. “You look interesting. Are you going out that way?”

“Ha ha, give me ten minutes and I’ll be fine. Where are we going anyway?”

“I thought this is the night we were meeting Bert and Jeanie.”

“It is, but we aren’t spending all night with them are we?”

“No, but who knows when we will get out. I thought we could just wander around the pier, maybe take in a band.”

“That sounds nice. We could invite them along.”

“If you want.”

The show came back. He did not get off me, knocking the pad onto the floor where I could not see it. I twisted underneath him to get a look at the women as they answered. “What is the one thing, besides the bathroom, she wishes you did not share?” Bob intoned. Oh crap, this was one I did not have an answer for. I racked my brain to think of anything while Dan studied me. I choked and finally said. “A car.” Dan thinks I’m a bad driver; he never lets me drive him anywhere. It might be related to the fact he has a BMW and enjoys zipping himself around.

“That’s a good guess, but it is something you wish we did not share.” He showed his first answer. Refrigerator. “Remember when I left that cheese here and forgot about it.”

“That’s right, the whole kitchen stunk. That’s not bad. There really wasn’t a good answer.”

I saw him move, but did not react fast enough to avoid being bopped on the head with a cushion. I had copied the habit from the contestants and he occasionally did too. He never pounds me the way I do him. I use my fists a lot too. I shoved him and he sat back up (letting me up too). Only one of the white couples on TV did not get five. Even though we play all the time we rarely win, and have never gotten a perfect score either. It bothered me we did not win more, but again we live separately. Plus, as Dan had pointed out, it was a nice perk to start the night with a win, which it would not be if we won all the time.

Bob ignored my reflections moved onto the next question, the one asking about my biggest turn on and off are. I listened to the wives answers, but none of their turn offs worked for me. I felt a little slutty, which I guess I am. I blame Dan, I wasn’t always this way. Of course he loves it.


“Well the turn on is obviously stripping,” I noticed with some surprise that he did not reflexively nod, “but I can’t think of anything that turns me off, so I will say nothing.”

“The judge will accept that, but it will do no good.” He showed me his answers: My bedroom voice and being sick.

“No! Stripping is my biggest turn on.” How did he not know that?

“Then why don’t you do it more often?”

“I don’t know,” I giggled.

“Well you are going to start.” I gave him a half shimmy. He poked me, “pay attention, we are at the next question.”

“...or Henry XVI?”

I remembered this one. “The only answer that makes sense to me is Henry VIII twice.”

“Very good Sprinkles.” He showed me the pad. “We have five points.”

“Don’t start with me.”

“Me, don’t start!? Who was…”


“No, who was it-”

“Okay, okay, okay.”

He slipped his arm around my waist, pulling me close the way he knows I like. “Were you serious about that? I always thought you liked my voice.” He switched into it.

I have to admit it does turn me on when he talks that way, but I elbowed him in the stomach. “I do like that, but I really like stripping.”

“I never knew that.”

“Well I’ve kept that a secret.” I was blushing. Oh my god, I could not believe I was blushing. After all the things I done for him, to him, or let him do to me, I’m blushing over admitting I like taking my clothes off.


“Because I’m worried you’ll tease me about it.”

“Smart thinking Sprinkles, but I meant why do you like stripping.”

“I always liked it. It made me feel worth something to see all these men get excited and line up to give me money just because I’m naked and wiggling. It just always made me feel special, like a beautiful princess. I mean I know they were just horny dogs who wanted to fuck me because their wives were getting old, but it still felt good. I got into their fantasies too. And if you call me Sprinkles again I will pound you.” I threatened him with my fist. That was my old stage name. Now it sounds so stupid, but I was a very popular girl.

He smacked away my fist. “Really. I never knew that. Why did you give it up?”

“Come on.” He gestured he did not follow. “You must know this.” Still a blank stare. “That first night when your buddies brought you in and Frank bought you a lap dance I thought no big deal, I have done this a thousand times. But when you talked to me, I just felt...well, more naked. I hadn’t been uncomfortable dancing since I first started, but you made me feel embarrassed. I liked it though, or at least I liked you. I never gave my number out, before either. I had to quit that week. Do you have any idea how much money that cost me? And you know I hate my job now.”

I had met him while working. He had come in with a group of guys, your standard fair, all hooting and hollering. He was the quiet one, but what I noticed was how sleekly he moved. Every step, head turn, reach, was smooth, no wasted motion. I had joined a few other girls seeing what kind of money they were willing to outlay. They had all whipped out bankrolls before we even got there, save for Dan. I was naked and grinding myself into a lap immediately. They passed us around for a while, making sure they all got hardons, again except for Dan.

“See anything you like this time?” one of them shouted over the music as I dragged my ass up and down his lap, letting his jean clad cock slipping between my cheeks.

Expressionlessly he nodded, and looked in my direction.

“All-righty then.” He turned to talk to me for the first time. “Hey babe, give Dan here a dance,” he shoved some cash into my hand. “Make it good and there’ll be a little extra in it for you,” he whispered to me.

I sized my quarry up. I had seen this type before, too proud to admit a stripper could have any power over them. I sat down on his lap, putting an arm around him and snuggling up against his neck. “Hey there, I’m Sprinkles, what’s your name?” I ran a hand over his chest, it was strong, but not nearly the hardest I’d ever felt.

“I go by Dan.”

“Well Dan, would you like a lap dance?”

“Indeed.” I stood to dance, but he put a hand on my forearm, the soft hand surprised me. Having successfully arrested my movements, she spoke. “Might I make a request?” Confused I nodded. “Could you redress for the start?” I nodded, I’d heard of guys who like that, but never encountered one myself. All us girls regarded it as an urban legend. I bent down to get my clothes off the floor. I snapped on my thong, zipped up my super short plaid school girl skirt, and put on my white tank top. “Could I entice you to take off your shoes?”

“Sure. You like feet?”

“No, I’ve never gotten that, but want a certain look for you.”

“Okay bigboy, the stockings too?” I had some fishnets held up by elastics.

“Take them off as you dance.”

“Can do? Anything else?” He was very specific. I liked it, I felt like an artist, plus there was that promised bonus.

“You seem remarkably pliable.”

“Hey, I want you to enjoy yourself.”

“You don’t regard it as a simply transaction?”

Now I did, but I didn’t like him just pulling away the veil of fantasy away. It made me feel cheap. “I’m here for the cash, yeah, but I want you have a fun time too.”

“Well then Sprinkles,” he slowly stressed my name to point out the obvious fakeness of it, “why don’t we start and if I think of anything you can do to increase my pleasure in the moment I’ll let you know.”

“Okay.” He was really being an asshole.

I got up, but he grabbed my hand again. “Wait until the next song starts.” He did not let go of my hand, holding it as the last song ended. I’d let rich, respectful, clients finger me on occasion, but I had never just held hands the old-fashioned way in a club before. It was unexpectedly uncomfortable. When the sounds faded away, Jimmy the asshole DJ came over the load speakers. Dan kissed my hand once. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, sure, I’m fine.”

“Then whenever you’re ready.” The first faint notes of music sounded over the buzz of strippers making money. I felt as though he had challenged me, I was going to show him. I sunk to my knees at his feet and used my head to nudge his legs apart. Looking up at him I dragged my face over his crotch. I felt him there, but he was not hard. I flicked him with my nose, and he twitched. I dragged myself over him more and rested my chest on his cock. He looked down at me impassively as I gave him and innocent look. Why do guys play hard to get with a stripper? I pulled myself up further until I could nuzzle his chest; his snake began to uncoil on my stomach. That was relieving, I had worried he won’t be able to get it up. It never took a guy so long, hell most men are rock hard before you even touch them. I take pride in being able to get to men so easily, I had been feeling a little threatened that he stayed soft. To celebrate I pulled my top over my head, and rubbed his neck with it. His challenge was making me get inventive. I stood and rubbed his face with my chest, and he blew on me. Not on my nipples the way you’d expect, but between my tits. A long continuous breath that tickled the undersides of my tits. I pulled my skirt up and rubbed my crotch against his, wanting get control of the situation. He was not fully erect yet. Going for broke I worked my thigh against him, he filled out, but was not raging yet. Boy was I getting frustrated. Then he did an odd thing, he very gently just tapped a few beats into my thigh, as though it was Morse code. Weird. I stepped away for a moment, and bent all the way over to take off my skirt. When I looked back he was looking at me, that is my face, not the ass right in front of him. I decided to go for another tactic. Straddling him I kissed my way up his neck, around his chin, and on his cheek. I jumped with I felt his tongue press my lips, he had pressed it into his cheek. Clever clever.

I held myself against him, “would you like to take my stockings off?” I whispered. Normally guys say something or nod; he just repositioned me on his lap. The first contact came behind my knee, then up the back of my thigh. I had been expecting him to do what all guys do, get as close to my pussy as they dared and then drag their fingers down. I fidgeted, it was oddly erotic. I, a jaundiced stripper, with plenty of men in my past, a girl who’d got very physical with the others girls for a bonus, was getting a little uncomfortable. This was much more along the lines of foreplay than a lap dance. He cupped my leg as he rolled down the stockings, touching ever inch of my gams. By the time the second one was off the song was over. I’d been naked in literally hundreds of laps before, but this time I was embarrassed.

“You were definitely a wise pick.”

“Thank you.”

“You adapted very well. It’s very rare I find a girl I like.”

“Why is that?”

He paused to form the right words. “Too much of life is rush rush rush, and strippers reflect that. You’re gorgeous, flexible, and willing to take hints, the perfect combination for my tastes.”

“I am here to please.”

The music of the next song started to filter over the airwaves. “Why don’t you lose the thong?”

Wow, did that suddenly sound scary. I looked down at the thin wisp of white material. I’d been naked in front of him before, but now… I chided myself, I’m a stripper, that why he was here. I yanked it off, and felt better, but not fully at ease. I tried to get into the song, grinding my naked body against his. I started to forget, but then he stopped me.

“Are you okay?”

Oh my god. “Yeah. Why?”

“You seem tense.” He took my hand again, that was getting to me, and kissed it. Then he sucked on one of the fingers. I knew what he would do next, and watched as he directed my own hand to my pussy. I was about to press in, but he grabbed my wrist, and started slow circles over my quim. “We are trying to relax, not get you off.” Flustered I did as directed. “Keep dancing.” Lightly touching myself, I got to my feet and again began to bump and grind. I was able to get into much more then I did normally, sitting on his lap and taking his cock in my other hand and stroking my ass with it. The music faded to a stop and he yanked my hands away from my body, startling me. I saw Louie the bouncer coming, but I waived him off.

“Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It’s alright.” I struggled to regain my composure.

“Why don’t we slink off to a corner?” I could not believe I nodded, but I did. I stooped to pick up my clothes. “Just the top.” I slipped it on, but felt even more exposed than before. Sure my boobs were covered, but my pussy was hanging out for all to see. We sat back in a corner, me on his lap. The next song started and he nudged me so my gaze was on stage. Then, oh lordy, he sucked two of my fingers into his mouth, and firmly pressed them into my pussy. The message was clear, and I started to diddle myself. I glanced over at him and saw he was staring into my eyes. I could not take it and buried my face in his shoulder. He hugged me as I finger fucked myself on a strangers lap. I let out a tiny squeak as I came for the first time in a club. He kissed me on the forehead, and for some reason that really helped. “What is your name?”

I broke rule I swore I never would. “Amy.”

“Pleased to meet you, Amy.”

“Thanks.” I was coming down, I felt much better. “Will I see you again?”

“I’m not really into clubs.” I frowned. “Perhaps if I could call.” There were some girls who give their number out, but they were universally sluts. I had never considered it before. This was a serious issue, how would he treat me knowing what he did? On the other hand… “You have to take risks in life.” He spoke, almost reading my mind.

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