tagRomanceTeaching Millie She's Hot Ch. 06

Teaching Millie She's Hot Ch. 06


The poker game wasn't necessary to make Millie go to the strip club, as it turned out. We still played for chores and for fun, but Millie was so into submission now, she'd do anything I said just because I told her to.

Millie was submissive out of sheer devotion to me. Ever since I made her go to Chicas Grandes beach in her G-string bikini, scared to death and crying, and she discovered that I wasn't the only one who thought she was a hottie--well, she'd do anything I said.

The first time I took Millie to Chubbies wasn't all that memorable. On the way there, I told her that the fat-girl strip club was part of my original plan; after her trip to the beach, I was going to take her there to show her how much guys appreciate girls with lots of curves.

"Why didn't you?" she asked.

She was sitting beside me in the car, dressed to give guys hard-ons--wearing a short, tight, incredibly low-cut dress that threatened to spill her four gallons of tits at any second. "It wasn't necessary," I said.

She giggled. "Yeah, I guess I figured that out by the time I fingered myself off naked in front of everybody."

Chubbies was an upscale club; the furnishings and appointments were first-class, with comfortable armchairs at low tables and subdued, though not dark, lighting. The place was almost full.

When we got there, the waiter walked into a chair while he was taking us to our table; he was watching my wife's foot-and-a-half of pale, quivering cleavage and not where he was going. By the time we sat down, more eyes were on Millie than on the naked fat girl on the stage.

She was cute and plump, swinging from the pole in high-heeled sandals and a headband and nothing else. She was shaking her babyfat C-cups and pumping her hairy pussy for the customers, but with Millie in the room she might as well have been reading the paper in a raincoat. I saw a few guys elbowing each other as they stared and mouthing the word "curvy," and I knew they'd seen the magazines.

We ordered drinks--Scotch straight up for me, a wine cooler for Millie--and the manager was at our table before the drinks were served.

"I'm told we have a celebrity in the house," he said with a smile, talking to Millie's tits. "Aren't you Millie O'Rourke?"

She nodded, her cheeks pink. "That's me," she said. "I guess you've seen my pictures?"

He grinned and nodded. "I sure have. You're beautiful." Millie glowed and smiled--at me.

He turned to me. "And you must be Jeff, the lucky husband." (My name had been mentioned in Millie's interview.) He offered a hand, and I shook it. "I'm Norm Peters, and I own this place."

"Have a seat and join us," I said, indicating a chair. He did, and I said, "You must be a chubby-lover too."

"You got that right," he said, grinning. "I always wished there was a place like this, and I always thought one would make money, so I decided to start my own."

"And does it?" I asked.

He grinned. "I drive a Bentley. We do all right."

"I guess that blurb in CURVY helped," I observed. He rolled his eyes.

"Incredible," he said. "We were doing great even before that, but since then we've been packed every night. On weekends, it's reservations only now."

He turned to Millie. Straight to the point, he was. He looked at her--her face, this time, though it must have been an effort--and asked, "Millie, would you like a job?" He nodded at the stage. "I'll pay you a thousand dollars a night to dance here."

Her big blue eyes got bigger, and her mouth fell open. The manager waited for an answer. Millie looked at me.

"I want her to dance naked on your stage," I said. "Once. After that, we'll see how it goes."

His eyes widened. "It's true, then," he said. "She does whatever you tell her."

"Tell him, Millie," I said. I felt like showing off a little. I didn't know what she was going to say, but I knew it would be good.

It was. "If Jeff told me to strip bare naked in your parking lot and wash cars with my tits, I'd do it," she said.

Peters just sat there for a moment, stunned. Finally, looking at Millie's chest, he said, "Well, by God, they'd be damned clean..."

We all laughed at that, and Millie asked, "When can I do it? Dance, I mean?"

Peters looked at me, and I shrugged. "I expect you'll want to do a little advertising," I said.

"Yeah. Yeah, I would." He thought for a moment. "We'll take reservations and charge extra." He looked at Millie's tits again. "A lot extra. Will you sign autographs, like on your magazines, Millie? You can charge for it."

"She'll do that for free," I said. "No point in bleeding her fans dry. She likes them. Right, Millie?"

She smiled brightly and nodded. "Can I do it naked?" she asked.

"Jesus," said Peters.

"I just think they should get to see me naked up close." She shrugged, and her tits rippled like a waterbed and almost fell out of her dress.

We were not having this conversation unobserved, and I heard at least five voices around us say "Holy Christ," "God Almighty," "Allahu Akbar," and other such religiously-oriented remarks.

"We'll work something out," said Peters. He was sweating.


Three weeks later, the night of Millie's performance finally came. She had been, you should pardon the expression, milking it for days.

"I can't believe you're making me do this, Jeff," she said as I was shaving her pussy that afternoon. "I have to dance stark naked on stage and show everything I've got to a crowd of men I don't even know..." she shivered.

"Hold still, baby," I said. "You don't want to do it with little bits of toilet paper stuck all over your pussy." I was shaving her with a blade. She wanted her cunt to be slick bald, without a hint of stubble.

I had heard that same kind of excited protest for more than a week. "You're going to make me show them my asshole?" she'd whimper, and I'd cruelly respond, "And squeeze it for 'em in the spotlight, Big Tits." She'd squeal in horror and her pussy would drip fucking-juice.

She was hot enough to melt a lead dildo by the time that night came around. We had picked out what she would wear very carefully--such as it was. As I got her ready, she was all but vibrating with excitement. She had to put a washcloth on her pussy to absorb her fluids, or her dress would have been soaked when she sat down; and she had to change it twice before we actually got to the club.

We went in the back. There was a huge crowd in front of the club, of guys who thought they were going to get in without a reservation. Some of them were pretty pissed off. Peters was out front talking to them with a couple of bouncers beside him. It looked pretty tense.

They had good reason, I guess. Out in front of the club were huge posters of Millie's magazine covers, with "ONE NIGHT ONLY!" signs above or below them--and "SOLD OUT" across those. The date had been advertised in the papers and by flyers on the street for more than a week, but it looked like several hundred guys didn't intend to be turned away.

The magazine covers were being used with permission; CURVY had sent a team of photographers out, and a couple of videographers as well. They were going to do a big feature on it and make a video, too.

My cell phone rang as we pulled behind the club. It was Peters; he had seen our car going around to the back.

"You got to help me out here, Jeff," he said. "We're about to have a riot on our hands. See if Millie will give a show tomorrow night and the next. It's the only way these guys are going to go home." I could hear angry voices in the background.

"Five times the fee we agreed on, Norm," I said. "That's going to be hard on her."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Will she do it?"

"She will." I hung up.

"Who was that?" asked Millie.

I smiled at her. "Are you scared, Millie? Are you embarrassed? Are you dreading getting up there on stage stark naked and shaking your tits and ass and shaved pussy in front of a crowd of strangers?" She shivered, and I knew that that third washcloth was probably soaked.

"Yes, Jeffie, but I'm going to do it... You're making me do it..."

She was so close to coming, I knew what was about to happen. I waited till she was out of the car.

"You're going to do it three nights in a row," I said, as brutally and imperiously as I could.

She came so hard she almost fainted. I held her up and helped her walk into the club.

She was still so hot, even after her orgasm, she recovered quickly and was still shivering with excitement as we went in the back door. "Oh, God, Jeff, I'm really here--I really have to do it--"

"You sure do, Big Tits," I said. We went backstage. "Let's take a peek out front." I knew what she was about to walk out into, but she didn't, and I didn't want her to faint when she first went out onto the stage.

We went to the edge of the stage, and I peeked out from behind the curtain; then I gestured for Millie to do the same.

She did, and gasped longer and louder than I ever heard her. "Oh... My... God..." Her hand went to her pussy involuntarily.

The place was jammed, probably beyond legal capacity, but Peters had told me that a few cops and safety inspectors had been given free tickets to take care of that. There were more tables than had been there before, crowded in around the stage and the runway--and beyond those, bleachers had been set up. They were all packed with guys, every single space.

Norm would be paying Millie $25,000 for her three nights. Fuck him. He could afford it. I knew he was getting $500 a seat for the tables near the stage, $300 for the rest, and $150 for the bleacher seats--and there were probably five or six hundred guys out there.

It was almost eight o'clock, time for the show. Millie and I were in her dressing room, and she was trembling with tension--fear, excitement, and extreme embarrassment.

Her favorite way to feel, in other words.

"Now you remember everything we talked about last week, right?" She nodded, her big blue eyes bright, her chubby cheeks rosy pink.

She's going to kill these guys, I thought. Sweet baby face, chubby-curvy body of a plump angel, the breasts of a tit-man's stoned wet dreams, and obviously scared to death. I was glad of the ten or twelve big, ugly bouncers that Peters had seated around the stage.

He stuck his head in. "Five minutes, Millie," he said, and winked.

She gave him a brave smile, then laid a kiss on me that made the hair on my balls stand up. "Thank you, Jeffie," she whispered. "I love you so much. And I love you even more for making me do this." She took twenty seconds to fix her slutty lipstick in the mirror, then headed for the dressing-room door.

"Break a leg," I said.

She looked at me like I had turned green. "Huh?"

"Old theater superstition," I said. "It means, 'good luck.' I'll explain later."

"Oh. Okay." and then she swept out.

I hurried to my seat at ringside just as a funky, sexual rock-and-roll beat began to pound through the club, and Millie stepped out onto the stage.

The applause, cheers, and whistles were deafening. Small wonder. Millie was not wearing the conventional stripper's gold-lame evening gown; she was wearing a stoplight-red, thigh-high dress made of a thin, clingy knit--with, quite apparently, nothing on under it.

Her enormous, pointed milkers were swinging and wobbling loosely, and her swollen softball-sized nipples with their cocktail-sausage tips were clearly outlined. Even the depression that was her navel was lovingly hugged by the clinging fabric, and when she turned around, her big, fabulously round and full asscheeks jiggled and bounced deliciously. The dress revealed her curvy, bare white legs to mid-thigh, and their quivering bare flesh held promise of things to come.

Those who were paying attention to details might have noticed three things: First, the dress buttoned up both the front and the back. Second, there were almost invisible nylon monofilament threads trailing from the dress to backstage. And third, she was barefoot. I doubt that many noticed.

Millie looked frightened and shy, which of course was incredibly sexy. Her eyes were wide and almost panicked, she was biting her lip, her dimpled chin was trembling, and her pretty, chubby hands were visibly shaking.

I knew it wasn't an act; posing in front of two professionals in a photo studio was one thing, but this was something else. The crowd was staring at her avidly, hungrily, and howling to see her flesh. She looked scared to death.

Millie began dancing to the driving beat immediately, showing off her 200-plus pounds of quivering fat, wriggling and bumping, bouncing and shaking everything she had, still with that terrified expression on her pretty baby face. The guys cheered and whistled, and I saw the photographers from CURVY doing their thing. There were five of them; there would be hundreds of shots for the editors to choose from for the magazine spread.

Millie hunched and wiggled and shook her big tits--but I knew what she could do, and she hadn't begun to cut loose yet. Her pale, pretty bare feet moved on the stage hesitantly, and she seemed reluctant to go out on the runway. Finally, she began to work that way, but very slowly.

As. Millie continued to dance without removing anything, the crowd began to mutter. By the time she had reached the end of the runway, out in the middle of the crowd, the muttering had become louder.

"Take something off!" came a cry, and when Millie nervously shook her head, there were a few scattered boos. She looked incredibly sexy in the clingy, revealing dress, but these guys had not paid $300-$500 to see a dress. They wanted to see her pale, bare skin. All of it.

The beat continued to drum through the club like a rapid pulse. Millie was dancing about five feet from me; my table was right beside the end of the runway, one of the best seats in the house. I shared it with a photographer from the magazine. She looked down at me and gave me a nervous smile, then bit her lip in anticipation and held her arms out, as if for balance. She wriggled and shook some more. The chorus of boos was building.

Holding her arms out was the signal. Suddenly, with shocking abruptness, the invisible threads drew tight, the Velcro dots behind the faux buttons on the back and front of her dress gave way, and--

The effect was that Millie was dancing in the red jersey dress one second, and the next she was totally naked. The dress split apart, whipped away in an eyeblink, and disappeared backstage, and my plump and radiantly beautiful Millie was left there, all the way out at the end of the runway, in nothing but her pink-and-white bare skin.

She was as naked as a newborn baby, from her pretty toes to her blushing face.The crowd went loudly nuts. Millie squealed in horror and tried to cover herself; they hooted and cheered and whistled and laughed as she tried to find a way to hide her enormous swinging tits and her fat, hairless pussy with her bare little hands.

Millie cowered in apparent fear for just another moment, shivering all over--but her eyes were narrow slits, not wide with panic, and I saw her fat white thighs squeeze together in a way I knew.

Millie was no doubt scared and embarrassed and shocked at her sudden, complete and publicly displayed nudity--but she was also coming.

After a few more seconds, she began to dance again, and the roar of the watching crowd grew louder. She closed her eyes and spread her bare feet wide apart and crouched--

And as she began to bump and grind to the music, swinging her enormous milkers and exhibiting her bare, shaved pussy, the roar suddenly lessened and took on a growling, animal quality. Every man in the place saw the gleaming slickness between her thighs and her red and swollen pussy lips. They might not have figured out that she just came, but that she was sexually aroused, there was no doubt.

Millie squatted lower and stuck it out, and if anyone had missed it, they didn't now. Millie's fat cunt was flaring open, and the redness of her glistening, gaping hole contrasted with her milk-white flesh like a stoplight in the snow. Her huge, pink aureolae were swelling as well, turning a darker pink as she stroked and fondled and shook her huge bare tits out on the brightly lit stage.

She finally fell back into a total squat, bare feet planted wide and leaning back on her hands, exposing her naked crotch to the max. Her tits swing to the sides, but were still astonishingly firm; they did not sag to her armpits, but stood out full and pointed even as she bent back and lifted her fat ass and waved her naked pussy at the crowd.

She was still bumping and hunching lewdly to the music, her big bare ass wobbling like white Jell-O as it quivered beneath her. A little liquid drooled from her bare cunt and dripped onto the stage.

The crowd went wild again, and Millie moaned and flipped over onto her hands and knees. As we watched, Millie made her massive milkers swing and dangle wildly as she hunched and rolled her big bare ass in time to the music.

She crawled around the stage like that, making sure everybody got a good, long look at her four gallons of hanging, lewdly waggling tit-meat, her fat bare ass, and her hairless, gleaming pussy. My naked fat girl was amazing everyone, including me.

Millie's pretty round face was red with both embarrassment and arousal, and as she crawled around and shook I saw her orgasming again.

So did everyone else. They cheered and whooped as Millie arched her back and shivered with it, fat ass quivering and eyes shut tight. She didn't even try to hide it. Her pretty hands grasped blindly at the stage, and she looked around her, squint-eyed and grimacing, at the howling crowd as she gasped and quivered and came naked in front of them all. She swung her tits, brushing the hardwood stage with her nipples, and she grimaced and shuddered in her orgasm as the audience cheered her on.

Finally, instead of standing up right away, she crawled around till her huge, pale ass was turned toward the crowd--then lifted and planted first one bare, fat leg, then the other, till she was in an outrageous, wide-open squat, still bent over with her hands on the floor.

The view was mind-blowing. Her bare feet planted flat and wide apart, her plump legs bent outward, her huge ass split open wide, her bald, swollen, glistening cunthole gaping open and drooling fuck-me fluid to the stage, and her enormous, long, full milkers dangling bare to her fat pink nipples dragging on the floor. If it hadn't been for the cheers and whistles, I'd have bet you could have heard cum spurting from the cocks of half the goggling audience.

Millie grabbed the pole and squatted lower and came again, sticking out her fat shaved cunt and showing off her squeezing, fluttering, squelching hole as her pussy-cum drooled and swung in strings and drips from it. She shivered and jerked and jiggled all over, fat and pale and naked to her pretty toes.

Millie had only just started. She began to dance again, slowly rising, but still showing off her dripping, bare, fat cunthole from behind as she pulled herself upright hand-over-hand on the pole and bumped and hunched and ground her hips as obscenely as she could. Finally, she was standing, the pole lost between her tits as she clung to it and pumped her fat bare ass like she was being fucked, legs wide apart.

She leaned back and crouched then, and slammed her pretty pussy into the pole and began to squat and straighten, rubbing her wet pussy lips against the pole, making it shine with her juices as she dragged her bare clit up and down--and came again, of course.

The crowd had grown quieter, watching with an air of gaping, eager wonder. No one had ever seen a pole dancer like Millie before.

She ground her open hole against the pole hungrily, shuddering and shaking, loose tits waggling, bare feet shifting as she worked her way around the pole to make sure everybody saw.

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