The Ballad of John and Al Ch. 02

When John got home, he could hear Allison singing in the bedroom. He smiled, dropped his satchel on the sofa, and went and stood in the doorway, arms crossed, and watched her folding laundry.

Having to put their washer and dryer in storage and resort to a shared laundry facility was just about the only downside of their new apartment. It had everything else they wanted, though, including location; and so it was a small price to pay. He tried to do his fair share of the lugging of laundry baskets, and she wasn't complaining.

True to their plan, she had moved to northern Virginia with him and enrolled in classes of her own, and was taking some time to get settled before looking for some part time work.

"Oh, hey," she said, looking up and seeing him leaning against the door frame. She came across the room and stood on her tiptoes to give him a little kiss. She was wearing a United States Navy t-shirt -- one of her own, not one of his -- and cut-off jeans. She looked adorable.

"Good day?" he asked.

"It was," she replied, smiling wide. "I got a job."

"Oh, really?" he said, arching his eyebrows and breaking into a grin. "Where?"

"Where do you think?" she teased. She picked up a bag that had been stashed behind the laundry basket and dumped it out on the bed.

Four t-shirts, two white, and two black. Three pairs of shiny, very small orange shorts.

"So, Hooters it is," he chuckled.

"Yeah. I also filled out an application at Tilted Kilt, but with the previous experience at Hooters ... well, they hired me on the spot."

"I'm not surprised," he commented. Whatever she had worn for the interview, he knew she was the prototypical Hooters girl. With her blonde hair and her dimpled smile, they would have wanted her on their team if she was wearing a burlap bag.

"So have you heard about the new uniforms?" she asked.

"Huh uh."

"Well, it was something of a scandal, I guess. So many of the staff protested that they dropped the requirements and let them go back to the old ones."

"No kidding? What ... what was the deal?"

"What do you think?" she replied. "They were ... well, they were pretty ... well, over the top isn't quite the right word..."

"Huh."

"But I decided to get a pair anyway. Just for fun."

"For fun, huh?"

She bopped back across the room and kissed him again and put her hand on his crotch. He was getting a reaction. "Uh huh. Wanna see?"

"Hell yeah."

She went back to the bed and picked up one of the little items and disappeared into the bathroom. A minute later she came back out, still in the Navy shirt, but now wearing the familiar shimmering orange shorts. Slightly shorter, slightly tighter. Definitely a bit of a camel-toe.

"Yeah, that's not very family-friendly," he commented.

"Wait till you see the other view," she said. And then she turned around. John let out a whistle. The bottoms of the shorts were a good two inches shorter than what he was used to seeing. The bottoms of both ass cheeks were visible, not-so-little silver moons of delectable flesh.

"Holy shit," he said. "Yeah, I can see why they objected."

"I know, right? I mean, the only underwear you can wear with these is a thong."

He shook his head. "Or a G-string. You're not going to actually wear that, are you?"

"Maybe," she teased. "Once I get some favorite customers."

"I don't know, Al. You might as well have got a job at a strip club."

"I thought about it."

He stifled a little cough. He was definitely hard inside his slacks now.

"So, flyboy," she asked. "You ever date a stripper?"

"Not 'dated,'" he countered, trying to regain the upper hand. She reached out and punched his arm.

"Bad boy."

He grinned. "Maybe I could start. Right now."

"Ah huh," she smirked. "All right. You asked for it."

She went over to her dresser and fished around in the top drawer, then turned around. She had a bright red pipe cleaner, like from a craft set. She wrapped it around his wrist and gave it a twist to secure it.

"So, it's ten dollars for the wrist band to go into the back rooms," she said. "And then it's thirty dollars a dance."

He grinned. He liked where this game was going. He pulled out his wallet and handed her two twenty-dollar bills.

"One dance?" she scoffed. "Big spender."

He coughed a bit and fished out three more twenties.

"That's more like it," she commented, saucily.

She took his hand in hers and led him into the dining room. Where there were straight-back chairs without arms. She backed him up against one and gave him a little push against his chest to get him to sit. He watched as she sauntered over to her purse on the counter, pulled out her phone, and scrolled through her apps before starting some music. He didn't recognize it ... something hip hop, with a prominent bass beat.

She slinked up to him, running her hands through her hair, planted her feet shoulder-width apart, and began to sway her hips to the music. He put his hands behind his head, interlacing his fingers, and sat back to enjoy the show.

At the first chorus, she turned around, bending slightly at the waist, and gyrated in front of him. John made a rumbling sound deep in his throat and reached out to caress her rear end. She reached back and grabbed his wrists.

"No hands," she ordered.

"No hands?"

"Huh uh," she said. "It's a club rule."

"Huh," he responded, compliantly sitting on his hands. "How do you know so much about how strip clubs work?"

"How do you know I know what I'm talking about?" she countered.

John bit his tongue. Yeah, he had been to plenty of strip clubs. Admitting it just fed into her desire to catch up with him in terms of sexual experiences. And body count.

She moved her grip to his forearms, just below his elbows, and supported herself as she lowered her perfect ass in its obscene orange garment down until she was just brushing his lap. She moved in a circle, and he could feel himself straining inside his pants, so eager to push himself up against the soft flesh of her derriere.

After a while she straightened her legs, still with her feet outside of his, and bent at the waist, reaching down to touch her ankles, and making a presentation of her rear end to him. She clenched and released her buttocks, first simultaneously, and then one after the other. How did she do that, he wondered?

Then she ran her fingers up under her hair, and, still facing away from him, held her upper body still while making her entire lower body from her knees to her thighs to her hips and especially her ass swivel and rock, like a destroyer in a 30-foot swell.

He normally could touch Al any time he wanted, and he did, several times a day; and she enjoyed it, and playfully groped him almost as often. But not being able to touch her right now, even if it was only temporary and part of a game, was driving him crazy. He wanted to reach out and grab her by the waist and pull her down on his lap, nestle his throbbing erection into the crevice between her cheeks, and grind against her, make her feel his arousal, from her pubic mound to her tailbone.

And then he thought about her performing a dance like this for other men, other men having the same view he had right now, other men's hands and laps and straining erections in this close proximity to his fiancé's lovely swaying bottom, and he got dizzy.

The song ended and another one came on. He recognized this one but couldn't name the artist. In the seconds between songs, Al pushed herself up off him, turned around, and straddled him, her hands on the back of seat behind his shoulders, her lower torso still undulating a mere inch above his crotch. His hands remained under his thighs. He looked at her lovely face. She was getting into her act; her lips were parted, and her eyes were heavily lidded, as if she was avoiding making eye contact with him, like he was just another random stranger to dance for and get it over with. The thought made his heart clench.

Finally, late in the second song, she opened her eyes and broke into a grin, as if unable to stay in character any longer. Then she settled onto his lap, fully, provocatively. It suddenly occurred to him that her legs were just tired; she had been dancing in a squat for five or six minutes now. He tried not to grin in amusement. Besides, he could feel the heat from her pussy, pressing intensely through a couple of layers of fabric against the fleshy underside of his raging cock. He liked that.

Then he thought about other men feeling the same thing. It made him slightly nauseous; but it also made his dick twitch. Al noticed and smirked at him.

She moved her hands from the chairback to his shoulders and locked her eyes onto his. "So," she said, huskily. "What's your name?"

John made a rumbling sound in his throat, imagining his pretty fiancé asking that question of some stranger. Some stranger who was flexing his hips to grind his cock against her vulva.

"John," he replied.

"Hi John," she intoned. "I'm Al."

"Al?" he asked.

"Short for Allison. But you can call me whatever you want."

He just nodded. The two of them role-played all the time, but now he was a bit at a loss for words. Or at any rate, he wanted to let her keep taking the lead.

"So, are you military?"

"How could you tell?"

"The haircut's a dead giveaway," she teased, touching him behind the ear.

"Just the hair?"

She ran her hands over his chest. "Yeah, and the body's not bad."

"Not bad?"

"Above average," she shrugged. He chuckled.

The third song had started. Al remained on his lap, no longer dancing so much as dry humping him. He ached to take his hands out from under his legs and gather her breasts up in his fists. But he liked playing games with her.

"So," she continued. "You an officer?"

"Right again," John replied. "What gave that away?"

"You're old," she sighed.

"Hey!" he laughed.

"Just kidding. You bought three dances. The enlisted guys rarely buy two."

"You get lots of enlisted guys in here?"

"Uh huh," she confirmed. "Lots."

She closed her eyes and ground herself against him a little harder. "LOTS."

He thought about making a joke about how enlisted men in the Navy were called Seamen. But they had worn that line out a long time ago.

"So," he ventured, pointedly looking at her left hand. "It looks like ... you're engaged?"

She arched her eyebrows at him. "Oh, you noticed that did you?"

"Mm hmm. So, what does your fiancé think about you working here?"

"Well," she replied, slowly, rocking from side to side a bit now, "He says he's fine with it. But ... I think he gets a little jealous ..."

"Can't say that I blame him," John offered.

"Oh?" She cocked her head. "You wouldn't let your girlfriend be a dancer?"

"Oh, I don't think it's a matter of 'letting' her do anything."

"Hmm. Modern man. I like that. So maybe you'd like your girlfriend to work in a gentlemen's club?"

"Well ... if that's what she wanted to do ..."

"Hmmm," Al offered, again.

The song ended and she dismounted.

"Well, that was fun," she said, suddenly no longer a stripper, back to being a girlfriend/nurse/college student.

"Yeah, it was," John agreed, finally pulling his hands out from underneath him, and flexing his fingers.

"Why don't you run out and pick up Thai food?"

"Okay," John said. It sounded like a good idea. He just wasn't ready to stop playing this game yet. "Maybe while I'm out I should stop by the ATM? Maybe when I come back, we can check out the VIP Room?"

Al smiled at him and looked at the imaginary watch on her wrist. "Aw, that's sweet," she said. "But I've got one of my regulars coming in soon. And he'll have me for the rest of the night."

John let his jaw drop open for a second. Of course, it was all a game, but her last sentence sent a shock through him. "He'll have you?"

Al shrugged. "Rules are different in the VIP Room."

***

When John got back with the carry-out, Al had changed out of her t-shirt and outrageously short shorts and had put on a pair of her nursing scrubs. Now that she didn't have to wear them every day, she found them comfortable and relaxing. And John thought she looked great in everything.

Al was happy and animated during dinner and afterwards. She was excited about going back to work part time for the camaraderie and the relatively easy money; at least, for a couple of hours she didn't torment John by painting images of middle-aged customers ogling her or copping feels.

By the time they had caught the evening news and retired to bed, it was just another weekday evening. Of course, John thought wryly, that meant a romp in the hay.

They had a robust sex life. Al's appetite was just as strong as his, and they rarely went 24 hours without making love at least once. Even on nights when she hadn't just given him three lap dances while pretending he was a stranger.

He was in bed reading, wearing only boxers, when Al came out of the bathroom, wearing a loose t-shirt and still brushing her teeth.

"Oo weh-ee fo' beh, fwyboy?" she said around the frothy toothbrush.

"Yes, I'm ready for bed," he laughed. "Finish up and get in here."

A moment later she was back, approaching the bed casually, stopping just before she got in, to bring her hands up under her t-shirt, hook her thumbs into her panties, and pull them down over her hips and drop them on the floor. Utterly casually, he noticed. What was the word? Insouciant. He was instantly hard.

Then she pulled the t-shirt over her head, and there she was, completely naked. The little swell of her belly. Her breasts, full and buoyant, her nipples barely stiffening in the centers of her half-dollar sized areola.

He couldn't help himself; couldn't resist revisiting their play from earlier. "Did you have a good rest of your shift at the club?"

She smirked. "I did."

"Good time in the VIP Room?"

She got into bed beside him. It looked to him like she was thinking about climbing aboard him, but instead, she lay down on her back, legs slightly parted and knees bent, as if inviting him to come do his worst.

"I did. He was very generous. But then, the older guys usually are."

"Oh yeah?" he pushed, getting up on his knees and moving between hers.

"Mm hmmm. They take their time and make it worth both our while."

John growled in his chest. She was making it hard for him to take his time.

He grabbed his cock and swept it up and down over her labia. She was wet already. Their play was arousing her as much as it was him.

"So. Do you want to do something like that?"

"Something like what?" she asked. "Stripping? Nah. But I have decided what I do want to do."

He nudged her lips apart with his fleshy glans. "Yeah? And what's that?"

"I want to cuck you."

He groaned and shoved himself up inside her, an exclamation point on her provocative little sentence, making her gasp and moan.

"Yeah," she said, breathlessly. "Like that. I want to cuck you so hard."

He was fully inside her, luxuriating in her warmth and wetness, feeling her soft thighs drawing up around his hips. They had played with this game for a couple of years, but something seemed more definitive about her words this time.

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah," she replied, still breathing shallowly. "It's time, don't you think?

"We've talked about it. We're only here for a year or so. Nobody knows us, or my family, or your CO."

Oh, Jesus, John thought. She was being cold and rational. She wasn't playing. He felt his cock throb, and he began to move slowly and rhythmically in and out of her.

"Mmm," she responded. "Yeah. You like that idea, huh?"

"Yesss," he hissed.

"Hmmm. You like being teased, don't you?"

Oh, shit, he thought. Don't tell me you're just teasing. "By you, I do."

"Mm mm," she purred, responding to the sensation of his stiff organ moving languorously in and out of her. "Yeah, I think I've figured it out."

"Yeah?" All he could do was to encourage her to keep going. "You have ... a candidate in mind?"

"No," she replied, swiveling her hips to stimulate them both. "Not yet. But I know where to look."

"One of your new customers?" he asked.

"No," she replied, confidently. Then she softened. "Well, maybe. If he's cute. And generous."

John closed his eyes and groaned. He knew it was one of her favorite buttons to push. The idea that some undeserving stranger, likely some older man, graying and gone to seed, could "earn" her charms with nothing more than a little attention and a few dollars. He honestly didn't know whether she was genuinely attracted to the type, or whether she had just figured out how much the idea tormented him.

"No," she was going on, her words now seemingly drawing power from the turgid tower of flesh that he was pushing in and out of her. "I think I want to pick someone here in the apartment complex."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. So many candidates." She paused. "You know they're closing the pool next week?"

He gasped. What the hell? He was struggling to maintain control while sliding his hard, sensitive cock in and out of her glorious pussy, and she was talking about pool schedules?

"Yeah, I've really been enjoying my time out there. I've met so many interesting men."

John had to slow down with his thrusting. He looked down. She had her hands spread out over her breasts. Like she was denying him access to them. But her diamond ring sparkled in the lamplight.

"Guys at the pool?" he asked.

"Uh huh," she affirmed. "So many."

He had to ask. "Do you wear your ring at the pool?"

"Always," she whispered. "You think that stops anyone?

"In fact, I honestly think ... it's kind of a magnet."

John groaned again. He was on the verge of cumming. He almost always came second (or third or fifth), after giving Al all she could take. But she was focused on what she was telling him, and he was losing control.

"You know why I want to cuck you with someone here in the complex?" she asked.

"Why?" he asked. He knew, but he wanted to hear it from her wicked lips.

"Because I want you to see the guy who cucked you. Every day."

Oh, God. He was losing it.

"And you won't know. Was it him? Was it him? Every single man ... you'll have to wonder..."

Oh, Jesus Christ, he thought. The humiliation of the scene she was suggesting affected him in a way he hadn't expected. He was lost. He felt his orgasm launching itself, and all he could do was plant himself as deeply in his fiancé as he could get and let it wash over him.

A few moments later, as he came down from ecstasy, he clutched Al to him and whispered "Sorry."

"Shhh," she responded. "Don't be."

He shuddered with pleasure and gratitude. No, it wasn't the first time he had ever cum first, but it certainly wasn't their usual routine. He was astounded at the power she was wielding over him.

"So," she said, running her hands over his back. "You know what I figured out today??

"What?"

"You not only like being teased. You like being denied. Don't you?"

"I ... I don't know."

"Yes, you do," she insisted. "You loved sitting on your hands."

He pulled out of her and rolled over on his back. Yeah, yes, he had loved that. She rolled onto her side beside him.

"So, here's what I've decided," she whispered. "I'm going to find a lover. And I'm going to let him have me, bit by bit.

"And everything I give to him ... is something that you're not going to get any more."

"What?" he thought. His mind was in no condition to figure out how that would work.

But his spent cock just twitched.

She had rolled halfway on top of him, one soft thigh draped across his stomach, her slick pussy pressed against his hip, leaking his seed onto him.

"Everything in your life you've ever wanted, you've just gone and done it, haven't you?" she commented.

"It must be really exciting to think there's something you can't have. And that some other guy can ..."