Red Lace Trilogy

Just as wildly arousing was the story of a woman who'd lost a bet with her husband. The wager was high, and she lost, her penance being she had to serve drinks and snacks to all his male friends, she wearing very nearly nothing at all, just little panties and high heeled shoes, at Sunday afternoon's football-watching party at their house. It took place down in the dimly lit basement rec room, with no windows, the smell of beer and cigars thick in the air. She told, in her nicely written little story, of having 'C' cup breasts with easily excited nipples, just like mine at the time, I remember thinking, mine that I thought were too small to be attractive to men. But no, hers where very attractive to them indeed, and at the point in the story when she'd had numerous hungry mouths on them I think I blew a gasket.

So yes, this fantasy of mine, of me, stripped naked, the only woman in a group of clothed men, is one that's been simmering in the back of my mind for decades. I'd thought it had gone away, to tell the truth, but no, it turns out it was a fantasy that was lying in wait, quiet and invisible, waiting for the perfect moment. And then Jill's mother broke her hip.

There in Jack's apartment, dressed in my stripper outfit, the roomful of eyes on me tingled my skin with goosebumps. Brandon asked, "What's your name? Want a drink?"

"Oh," I said. "Yeah, something strong. My name's...Trixie."

He smiled, and Jack did, too. "I thought that was the other girl's name," Brandon said.

"Yeah," I said, thinking quick. "We're all Trixie. Don't you know that? And you're all Joe." I looked around, starting to get a better feel for who was there, pointing out a few. "That's Blond Joe, and that's Dead Head Joe, and that's Big Eyed Joe." It was too much to name all of the dozen or more, so my eyes circled back to Brandon. "And you're Big Joe, and this guy..." I said, settling my eyes on Jack, "...this guy here is Gorgeous Joe. Damn, honey, anybody ever tell you you're beautiful?"

I think I can truthfully say I was as stunned as Jack was at the things that were coming out of my mouth. Without trying, or thinking about it, I'd slipped into a character, and it seemed right, or easier maybe, to stick with it and not be the real me.

A red plastic cup holding about a half a pint of whiskey was placed in my hand, along with ten fifty-dollar bills. I took a much needed drink. It's not my usual, straight whiskey, or straight anything for that matter, and I'm afraid my face showed it. My eyes went to Jack's, where they seemed to like to be, and I saw him smile at my throat-burning grimace.

All the other guys seemed a little shy of me, which was fine with me. If I'd been quickly surrounded by a hungry herd it might have frightened me into sensibility. Instead, I stuffed the money in my handbag, took another sip of whiskey, listened to the southern rock music, and took a deep breath.

Brandon asked me, "Did you bring music?" His eyes looked at my handbag, a decidedly conservative looking one for a stripper to be carrying.

"Oh," I said. "No. Yeah, some of the girls do, don't they. No, I just like to...improvise."

"What do you like, rock, or metal or something?" asked Brandon. "Jack, you got any Aerosmith?"

"I can stream pretty much anything you want," Jack said.

"Aerosmith. The Toys in the Attic record," Brandon said. "Those are some stripper classics, right Trixie?"

"Fuck yeah," I said, even though I wasn't sure of what I was saying yes to. I know Aerosmith, but that particular record? I didn't really have a clue.

When I was in my twenties and thirties, I was told that I dance pretty well. And I've always enjoyed it, having a few drinks, getting out on the dance floor at a club, or even at a wedding or other kind of event. It's always been easy for me to get the feel, the sexiness, the rhythmic flow of it all, but—and this is another big 'but'—doing it all alone, with nobody to groove off of but myself and the music, wasn't something I'd done since I was a teenager, when I used to practice dancing behind the closed door of my childhood bedroom. So when I heard Aerosmith suddenly playing over Jack's speakers, and I heard the volume go up quite loud, I panicked a little.

"I wanna meet the guest of honor," I said to Jack, raising my voice above the music. "Who's the bachelor?"

I followed Jack as I took another big sip of rocket fuel whiskey, my lips warm now, my throat feeling friendlier to the octane of it. Jack introduced me to Justin, a muscular but still babyfaced guy who was to be married the very next weekend.

"Babyfaced Joe," I said to him, and I winked, the first time I'd done that in I don't know how long. He smiled. We chatted for a minute or two, me asking how long he'd known his girl, and what she though of him having a bachelor party.

"Oh, she's okay with it. She's at her bachelorette party right now, and they've got a male stripper, so..."

"Oh," I said. "Good. Yeah, that'll...even things out, right? You drinkin' enough, honey? I want you buzzed." I looked around at everyone. "All you assholes. Drink when I say drink. Got it?"

A boisterous cheer of agreement went up, and I pulled the trigger, pouring whiskey down my throat right along with them. "Drink!" I said again, and we all downed another slurp. It was the first inkling of my power, a power I hadn't expected. "Fuck yeah," I said.

Two other guys worked up the nerve to talk to me, taking blatant looks at my open-shirted cleavage. The look in their eyes and on their faces absolutely gave me chills and goosebumps, the good kind. Jack was still with me, nearly beside me, so I said, "This is your place, right, honey? Wanna show me where I can put this?"

"Oh, sure," he said, seeing me take my big handbag off my shoulder.

With the music loud in my ears as I passed one of the speakers, I followed him to his bedroom. "A water bed? Wow, I didn't realize you're a Don Juan," I said, smiling. Taking a quick glance over my shoulder to make sure nobody was watching or listening, I looked back at Jack, my smile gone. I asked him, "What the fuck do I do now? The girl that's supposed to be here, what would she do? Do they...take everything off?" I had a feeling that, in this age of everyday porn, keeping my panties on would probably be seen as a lousy job of stripping, but I wasn't exactly sure.

"Trixie, do you mean?" Jack smiled like he knew my secrets. "Yeah, she'd...take it all off. But Allie, really, you don't have to do...any of this. I gotta admit I'd love it, but...I can get you outta here if you want."

I'm afraid I smiled like a smitten teenager. "Really? You're...happy I'm here?"

"Oh my God yes. This is the coolest thing ever. But I mean...even if you decide to leave it's cool. Just coming in here, like this," he said, eying my widely bare cleavage, "you're, like, the most fun woman I've ever met."

A hot shot of adrenaline hit my face, blushing it what I can only imagine was a deep crimson red. The insides of me felt better than most of the orgasms I've had when I said, "So...fully nude then. What else would she do?"

Jack's face turned a shade of crimson similar to mine, his eyes wide, sparkling with masculine excitement. I gave him a surprised but not unhappy look, my own eyes wide when I realized what he was about to say. "Oh, wow," I said. "A blowjob for the wedding boy?"

Half of me hoped Jack would shake his head no, the other half of me hoping he'd nod yes. He shrugged his shoulders, but it was a yes shrug, I could tell. It was written in his eyes, and all over his face. "She'd...definitely do a lap dance for him, and maybe for the others," he said.

My heart was thumping, enough for Jack to see and hear. "Nude?"

This time he nodded.

"Do strippers...kiss?"

"I don't know," he said. "That's up to you, I guess."

"How much touching do they let you guys do?"

Jack shrugged.

"Up to me?"

Jack nodded. A voice interrupted us. "What are you doin', dude, helpin' her get naked?"

Jack smiled, looked at me. "This is my brother," he said, his small smile broadening into a bigger one. "His name's Joe."

"For real?" I said. I turned to the equally handsome brother. "So that makes you Joe Joe. You're pretty gorgeous too, like your brother here. I might just get you two guys mixed up."

And then I heard it: the tell-tale first notes of one of Aerosmith's most classic songs, Walk This Way. "Oh, shit," I said to Jack. "Now there's a song I can dance to."

"Fuck yeah," Joe Joe said.

The eyes of these two brothers fucked me up more than the whiskey I'd drank, their excited, smoldering, lustful gazes ushering me out into the living room as if I was floating. Free of my handbag and my drink, my body began moving to the powerfully rhythmic beat. I stood right in front of one of the speakers, to feel it's vibrations pump into my bones, into my spine, into my moving arms and my dancing fingers. I felt all the eyes on me, felt the strangeness of being the only one dancing. I closed my eyes, to escape it, just for the time being, the writhing of my pelvis increasing, warming, freeing, leaving the binds of stillness behind.

This is a striptease, I reminded myself, so I began. My eyes open now, with teasing glances at each and every young man. I felt the power again. Even now, so soon, everything, and everyone, seemed to be under my control.

As I danced I thought of another question I should have asked Jack: How long should I stretch this out? Instead of dwelling on it I went with the sweet flow of the moment, did what felt right, untied the shirt at my waist, played with the shirttails and the openness of it all as I danced, giving the boys a much better look at the full picture of my red-lace adorned breasts. I thrust them forward, knowing that, in the eyes of horny young men, breasts are tits, and tits are essentially magic.

Jill's sparkly gold high heels didn't fit me ideally, so I kicked them off, and then the white shirt slipped down my arms, giving me a goosebumpy tingle as it left me, dropping to the floor.

The song ended and the next one started, a faster beat. My hips swung to it, my whole body fully into it now, and I think I may have blushed when I heard the lyrics, the singer singing "...but I really get her going when I whip out my big ten inch." A perfect stripper song? Maybe. The guys sure liked it, whooping, some of them eying me lasciviously, grabbing their crotches for emphasis.

Most interesting to me was the smile growing on my face. My dance pirouetted me, I swung my skirt covered ass at the boys and they whooped. My heart nearly burst with joy. This is fun!

Jill's skirt's zipper is on the side, so right on the beat I thrust that hip toward the guys and slowly unzipped it. With my ass to them again, I swiveled my hips to the rhythm while my fingers helped the short skirt down, and down, and down some more, gravity taking it to my ankles; I danced my way out of it, kicking it aside. As soon as it was down and off I realized that I should have bent at the waist in a sexy way when I took it off, showing them a much more risqué view of my ass in panties, and I wondered if any of them were catching on that I'm not a pro.

But what they thought didn't matter to me much at that moment; I was in the zone — a place of whiskey, a place of dance, a place of sexual fantasy. The fast and relentless beat of the powerfully loud song had me there, the guys' eyes had me there, and the dark recesses of my mind had me there. I found myself facing away for a moment, toward the speaker and the wall; my hands reached behind, I unclasped the bra, and a professional stripper move came to me without even thinking about it: my hand and wrist held the lovely lacy bra cups over my tits and wildly aroused nipples while my other hand swept the straps off my shoulders. It was topless time, and I felt completely ready. Dancing a full, teasing rotation, I faced the wall again and let the sexy red bra drop. With nothing on now but Jill's little panties, with my dancing arms out to my sides, I turned, facing my spellbound audience, my body writhing with the beat, showing myself in a way I'd never done before.

"Fuck yeah!" yelled Black Shirt Joe, and many of his Joe friends whooped their approval. You'd think silence from a guy would be a bummer to a woman in this situation, but when I looked at Jack his amazed-looking silent smile and sparkling eyes nearly gave me an orgasm. I hope I didn't wink at him, but, God help me, I think I might have.

The beat slowed considerably with the next song, and I realized I'd never thought about what a slinky, sensual song Aerosmith's Sweet Emotion really is. With my posture upright and arched, I reached toward the drink in Jack's hand, and he nicely came forth with it, smiling as he handed it to me. A big gulp of its whiskyness went down my throat, I handed it back to him, and, as I pushed Jill's little panties down my legs, bending deeply at the waist with my ass and pussy greeting my admirers, I felt like the sexiest woman in all the world.

I tell you, it's impossible not to gyrate like a sensual slut when dancing to that song. With the panties kicked free of me, my body barefoot and fully nude, I joined hands with the spirit gods, closed my eyes, and felt completely in love with myself, for maybe the first time ever. My tits were thrust forward as I danced, to give them their best shot at looking youthful; my pussy may very well have been glistening with droplets of slippery dew; and my boys whooped and applauded. Applauded! And I wasn't even finished! My mind, already high, floated up to the heavens.

The next song wasn't perfect. No More No More wasn't the sentiment I was in the mood for. The beat was good, rockin' and steady, but the word 'no' just didn't fit the moment.

"Hey, Gorgeous Joe," I said to Jack. "Give me something slow. Sade. Diamond Life."

Jack smiled, went to his iPad, and just like that the music of my teenaged youth was playing, the song, Smooth Operator, probably one I listened to when I devoured those Penthouse Forum magazines all those years ago. And oh, baby, did it ever feel good dancing naked to that song, with young male eyes devouring me.

After a minute of it I was lost again. Then my eye caught Justin, Babyfaced Joe, the soon-to-be-wed bachelor. He was watching me intently, happily it seemed. I remembered what Jack had said, about a lap dance for the bachelor boy. As I danced, feeling the wild, tingly thrill of having my hands on my tits, I looked around at the furniture. The couch seemed perfect; more dangerous than a chair, and that excited me. I felt things inside me, horniness, stirred ever so deeply. With Sade's silky voice serenading me, and over a dozen young men expressing their approval, I danced over to Babyfaced Joe, took his hand, and led him to the couch. Others moved and gave us room, parting like the red sea.

"Here we go," said Tallest Joe. "Yeah! "

The couch's white leathery vinyl felt cold on my bare legs, giving my nipples another shot of hardness, as if they needed it; they'd been hard and tingly aroused since the beginning. I'm one of those women who, under the right circumstances, can just about orgasm from nipple play. But that cold white vinyl, and the heat of Babyfaced Joe's lap, which I was straddling, shot me full of goosebump tingles again, all the way from my mussy hair to the tips of my bare toes. I was kissing this nice young man, my mouth full of his and his full of mine, like big-time lovers on a hot date. The others whooped and cheered, and my boy's cock grew into a hard, denim covered lump under the bare wetness of my grinding pussy. Oh yeah, I was fuckin' horny.

"Fuck yeah, look at that ass," one of the Joes said.

"Sweet," said another.

"Hey Justin, what happens in Jack's apartment stays in Jack's apartment," another Joe said.

Justin must have taken the words to heart, because his hands were suddenly on me, on my tits, then one on my tits and one on my ass, his kissing mouth tonguing mine with more even passion.

Mind you, I've been kissed, and I've been fucked, and I've had my horniness stirred, plenty of times, but never quite like this. This audience of horny Joes, this nudity of mine amongst them, and this twenty-something I was going at it with, I'll be goddamned if all of it didn't put me right over the top. With my mouth huffing right against his, and my pussy unable to stop its ecstatic grinding against his textured denim lump, I came, hard, in a writhing rocketburst of orgasmic fury, and yes, I was as surprised as anyone.

"Fffuckk!" and "Shit!" and "Oh my God, she came!" were just some of the things I heard.

"Makin' me cum, huh?" I said, huffing delirious whispers against Justin's lips. "Is that what you do to girls? Huh? You just earned a fuckin' blowjob, if you want one."

My Babyfaced Joe nodded, looking a bit stunned by what had just happened. I sat up and began opening his pants, my eager fingers working his zipper right there by my spread open pussy. Was I glad I was halfway decently groomed down there? Yes, I was.

Letting his hard cock out just an inch from my wet pussy seemed a bit much, so with Sade's music helping me, I slithered off of him, to my knees on the carpeted floor. My eager hands sprung his cock free, not very big but fully, youthfully hard, and my mouth went to happy work on it.

"Oh-h-h-ho Ffuuckk!" a moaning Joe said. "You assholes better hire Trixie for my bachelor party. Damn...she knows what she's doin'! "

I must confess, I do love sucking cock. It's a very rare treat these days, though, with so little man action in my life. So yeah, Babyface's hard one felt good in my mouth, especially so since I was still on horny fire from the surprisingly wild orgasm. Once again my hormones were raging out of control, and I couldn't help myself. Between wet, slippery mouthfuls of young cock I asked him, "You wanna taste me, baby? Wanna lie down and let me sixty-nine you?"

The perfection of Sade's sensual singing filled my head, keeping away any trace of sanity and clear thought. The next thing I knew, I was up on the couch again, the top of a sixty-nine with a still mostly clothed young man. His mouth latched onto my hot pussy, I threw my head back, loudly moaning. Others moaned too, and commented, saying dirty things. Sexy things. Hungry things.

"Let me suck your cocks," I heard myself say, my eyes not truly focused on anyone, just looking at the herd. Babyface eating my pussy felt so ridiculously good, better than anything, ever. I stroked his cock with my squeezing fist, my eyes watching pants opening, pants coming off, my ears hearing excitement, and surprise, and lust. Cocks were everywhere, some fully hard, some thick and drooping, some soft and embarrassed.

Black Shirt Joe was the first in my mouth, uncircumcised and wildly, stiffly aroused. His moan, so beautiful, made my full mouth smile. I tried not to look around; I think I didn't want to see Jack just yet, so I let myself get lost in the moment, lost in the scent and the feel, lost in the taste.

Babyface gave me a nice little orgasm, my body shuddering. "Fuck, baby," I said, writhing my hips, my pussy moving against his mouth. "That feels so fucking good."

Moaning again, with my mouth full of Black Shirt Joe's cock, stroking Babyface's hardness with my hand, I heard and felt him moaning differently against my pussy. His cum squirted, flying high, I felt its pulses in my hand, my mouth gave up Back Shirt's cock and lunged to the cumming one. I took what I could, but I'd missed quite a bit. Rather than make a mess, I swallowed it, moaning, feeling Babyface's orgasmic moans in my pussy and the slipperiness of his cum in my stroking fist. This was a scene worthy of praise, and it got it. "God damn, a cum eating MILF," one said, others saying other things about me I never thought I'd hear. Still others were stroking their own cocks, one with masturbatory fury.