The Ringer

But she wasn't sure she wanted Ben to nut. That, she was nervous about. Sometimes, in the dance, you got carried away and moved into something that felt like a trance, like you were outside your own body; she could see that happening tonight, on a sticky stage in a grotty strip bar, and she knew she wouldn't be able to control what happened.

$450, she reminded herself: her share of the bet, plus her share of first prize. $450, plus her best friend riding her face. Elle sighed, leaving a puff of moisture on the window, wondering why she wasn't more ecstatic about that prospect.

She was no better an hour later, as the backstage shuddered to the stomp of the crowd outside. She sat on a tiny chair in the corner of the dressing room, moody, waiting for the usual butterflies to leave her stomach, her knee bouncing uncontrollably. She glared moodily around the little room with its big mirrors and neat little stations; interesting, she'd thought, how such a shitty-looking strip club should have such a tidy dressing room. But then, she'd reflected, it was typical. Women used it.

Not tonight, though. Five couples were entered in the contest, meaning five men were sitting among the hairbrushes, perfumes, and body glitter scattered across the little dressing tables. Everyone glanced around, a little furtively, exchanging bland comments on things like the weather.

"Okay!" The stage manager, a hard-bitten former dancer with bad skin and no apparent sense of when to stop with the plastic surgery, poked her head in. "Next up! 'Dirty Danielle' and, uh, 'Benoit Ballz?'" The pronounced it ben-oyt, but she didn't look like the kind of person who'd take kindly to correction. She frowned at her clipboard. "Dumb nicknames. Danielle?" She glanced suspiciously around. "Is that your real name, Danielle?"

Elle glared up mulishly. "Yeah. Why?"

The woman looked her over. "Nothing. We get a lot of girls named Danielle working here. Most of them are fake. Anyway." She glanced at the clock. "Get naked and get to the side of the stage. You two are on in around a minute."

Elle was nodding as Ben's hairy legs loomed up beside her, his jeans already gone. "Ready, Ellie?"

She was asking herself the same question, and she suddenly felt the butterflies fade and knew the answer was yes. "Ready. Let's win this shit," she muttered, pulling her clothes off with angry motions.

They undressed quickly, forcing themselves to talk normally as the pressure mounted. Her eyes went unconsciously to his cock as he dropped his boxers. She frowned. "Um. Did you trim?" she giggled, incredulous.

He adjusted his balls self-consciously. "Oh, you know," he shrugged. "Figured I might as well." Most of the men who'd already gone out had shaved everything off, a look Elle had never liked. "Why?"

"Nothing." Elle gave a tight smile as she pushed her panties down. "Looks good, actually." She knew he'd be staring at her pussy as she straightened back up. "As you see, I went a little further than you."

"No shit," he chuckled: Elle was waxed so severely she felt like she'd never grow anything back. Her whole body was tight, compact, muscled; even her hair was French-braided. She glanced into a mirror, seeing that her makeup had survived the removal of her strappy top. Every eye in the room was on them, and she suddenly loved it. She reached for Ben's hand, so familiar. "Let's kick some ass," he urged.

Same old Benoit. He didn't seem competitive, but given the right situation, he'd turn into a pit bull.

They bounded up the stairs, the PA booming louder as they reached the stage; the crowd, still unseen, was already hopping. She felt something stick to the bottom of her foot; when she swiped it away, a condom wrapper fluttered to the dusty floor.

Classy.

The PA guy was yowling something, but it didn't even penetrate: Elle was coiling inside, the old juices flowing as she flexed her knees and curled her toes. The nudity was almost an abstraction, already something totally normal. She didn't even care about the crowd, about the stale air, about the tautness in her nipples: she was focused on her body, how it would need to move, how Ben would help her bring it to life.

And then, with stunning abruptness, their music came blaring over the PA. Too loud, she told herself, but already Ben's nude ass was flexing as he pranced toward the floodlights, leading her out, the opening poses clear in her mind.

Souls Colliding. It started fast, and ended faster; the intensity rose throughout the performance as the dancers got closer and closer, eventually writhing on the stage in a tangle of arms and legs before ending on their knees, facing each other with their hands clasped. And everything went fine...

...until about one minute in.

The crowd was a roar in her ears, almost a constant force rolling over her from the darkness at the edge of the stage: she knew there were individual voices, separate cheers, camera flashes, but she wasn't aware of any of that. Everything beyond the stage was a black rush, and everything actually on the stage was Ben. All of it, Ben. That's what the piece called for, a focus on the partner.

The collision.

He felt it too, she knew, the two of them completely in synch as they'd always been, and she strained her body closer and closer to his, the sweat beading and rolling, the stagedust spreading over her tumbling body.

She spun out of a quick and particularly challenging leap, her small breasts bobbing, when she saw it suddenly: he was crouched just then, muscles tight all across his body, and she noticed quite definitely a long, taut hard-on. She used it at once, a symbol of her body's expression, of what she was doing to him: another kind of collision, and as she launched herself into the next pass she kept her eyes fastened firmly to his bouncing shaft, his tight jiggling balls, the blaze in his eyes as he stared back at her.

Elle was aware, suddenly, that she was completely wet.

Oh, it didn't show: she was sweaty enough that it wasn't obvious. But it was definitely there, nagging at her vagina, pulling at her mind. She stared hard at him, trying to read him, eyes and body telling him that she was feeling the power of the dance, and that he should go along with her.

He swung fluidly to the side, that black rush of the crowd growing now as everyone in the place started to read the dance, and then the Souls Collided in a smashing flurry of arms and legs, the two dancers grappling at each other, choked by their need. Blindly, knowing the dance demanded it, Elle snaked her hand straight down to her partner's balls, feeling the red heat of his shaft across her wrist: his lips found hers then as the music threatened to blow out the speakers, and Elle didn't even need to think as she speared her tongue deep into Ben's mouth.

His cock leapt against her arm, and both of them knew how the dance must end: Elle's body folded as she'd done when they rehearsed, kneeling, her back straight, but this time Ben sprang to his feet with the crowd threatening to tear the whole building apart.

Quickly, her breasts shuddering as she heaved out her breaths, Elle arched gracefully back, staring up at her partner; for his part, Ben laid a possessive hand on top of her braids, his other hand tight around his shaft. He was jerking with firm, long strokes, his fingers blindingly fast, balls shivering before Elle's wide eyes.

She'd not received a facial in some time. If she'd been capable of rational thought at that moment, she'd have remembered that the last time she'd been with a man had been about eight or ten months back, that nice guy she'd met at work, and he certainly hadn't been the type to nut all over her face. But now, in this moment, the whole room pulsing with sexual energy, it seemed the most natural thing in the world for Elle to wait patiently as the music died, watching his cockhead flare, then grinning wide as she felt the white-hot thickness of his come smacking across her face and neck in long, dangling streaks.

Ben's face showed bliss, his fingers tightening in her hair as he emptied out the last of his load. The building shook. Danielle had to stop herself from driving her hand between her legs, but when Ben decided to end the dance by throwing her in a contemptuous heap to the stage, she caught a brief glimpse through the stage lights of her friend Valerie, jostling to the front of the crowd with her hand down her skirt and an enraptured look on her face.

Franco wasn't happy about paying up, but he did it anyway. The Nude Day Contest, in the end, had been no contest at all: Benoit Ballz and Dirty Danielle had won, hands-down, his semen still clinging to her face as she raised the trophy high.

* * *

Danielle felt the sweat off Valerie's palm, slick on their twined fingers as Val dug desperately through her purse one-handed. "Here!" she sang at last, ripping her keys out and dangling them behind her toward Benoit. "You're driving. We've got the backseat."

"Okay." He had to try twice to grab for the keys, his full attention riveted on the two asses in front of him. "Your place?"

"Hell fuck yes, my place." Val had drawn close to Elle, their hips touching now as they strode in step across the parking lot. "My bed," she added, clearing her throat; her car squawked in the night as Ben unlocked it remotely.

The tumble into the backseat was everything Elle could have wished for, her fevered friend shoving her roughly into the car face-first and then climbing on top before Elle could even take a breath. "You really do know how to get me going," Val whispered in Elle's ear. She found herself twisted on the Camry's crappy upholstery with her body trying to turn, caged by Val's determined limbs, those long raven locks tumbling around both their heads as Val leaned down with her lips opened.

Elle had been remembering Val's experimental New Year's kiss for years, but that had been nothing like this one. That fine little mouth, well-licked as she'd watched her boyfriend come, fit Elle's so perfectly, touching with the perfect shape and just the right pressure, her tongue curling in just as Elle got her own lips parted.

They both moaned, the air crashing out of their lungs with the force of their bodies rolling against the seat-back as Ben floored it out of the parking lot. Elle was scrambling, her legs churning around so that she could turn fully and give herself to her friend, but Val had her own ideas and they involved nothing but closeness. Her body pinned Elle's, her hands groping everywhere. "Fuck!" Elle managed at last, her lips coming off Val's in a string of spit. "Let me get set, dammit!" Her hips were already in motion, needy, wanting to hump up toward Val as soon as she could get her fucking legs disentangled.

"You little whore," Val was hissing in Elle's ear, the two of them swaying as Ben sped through the streets. Elle felt Val's lips close along her earlobe. "How dare you do that to my boyfriend." She gripped hard at Elle's little breast, drawing a gasp. "Getting me all worked up..." She dived down suddenly, her mouth trailing, and sucked hard at Elle's neck as she finally got her legs out from under the taller woman.

"You're worked up!" Elle exclaimed, her voice a whimper. She was already at a fever pitch, her body trembling with its need; she couldn't believe her friend was attacking her like this, her mind trying to grasp the meaning of this feral fumble in the backseat, but her body was quicker on the uptake: Elle was soaked. "I've been waiting for this for five years..."

"Well, you're going to fucking well get it, now." Elle felt the spaghetti strap dig into her shoulder as Val pulled hard on her top, greedy to suck her tit, and Ben nearly crashed when he heard Elle scream as she felt teeth closing over her rigid nipple.

"Goddamn! You guys okay?"

"Just drive, motherfucker," Val grated in between nibbling and sucking. Elle had her fingers sunk deep, deep inside Elle's glorious hair, clutching hard, keeping her friend's mouth on her pale flesh. She could already smell pussy, both of theirs, and as she at last got her leg in between Val's, she felt the taller woman's thighs clamp desperately to hers and send a flare of heat directly to her pussy. "Get us home."

By the time the tires chirped to a halt outside Val's building, the welts were already starting to rise on Elle's neck and chest where Val's lips had marked her. Their faces pulled slowly apart, Ben shifting into Park. Val didn't look at him when she spoke. "Ben, go open up my apartment. Elle and I will be along shortly."

"Shit," was all Ben said, his voice full of awe, and then he slipped out of the car and the dome light winked out. The car stayed heavy, tense, the air closely packed with lust. Val's voice was a husky rasp when she spoke.

"One time, Elle. Just this once." She hesitated, then sent her lips crashing back down on Elle's, their tongues dancing. "So let's make it a fucking winner."

"Mmm." Elle was kissing back blindly, her smiling mouth surging open and closed, tongue pushing boldly up into Val's mouth as she melted in disbelief under the weight of her friend's body. She reached up, hesitant, then bolder once her hands made contact with Val's smooth flank at her waistband, her fingers trembling up just underneath the dazzling top. She laid her head back on the stained backseat and faced Val's indigo eyes with a dreamy smile. "I never forgot what it was like to kiss you," she confessed.

Something passed over Val's face then, a ripple of wistful confusion. "I didn't know," she sighed, her breath a wash of whiskey.

Elle took a deep breath, feeling her face go flushed. "I... I want to eat you, Valerie. So bad."

Val played it cool, but Elle did not miss the brief flash of satisfaction in her narrowed eyes. "Then fucking eat me," she murmured, a savage thrill behind the words, and then Elle was drawing a deep breath as Val backed up off her. Her sudden absence was a hole in her night, such a strange night, but the dark-eyed girl held her hand out from the car door. "Come," she urged. "I'll take you home."

They walked hand-in-hand through the gate, into the apartment courtyard, Elle holding her friend's hand in both of her own. Her whole body sang, still impossibly aroused from the car, and from the stage before that. From Val's hands and Val's mouth and, yes, from Val's boyfriend's dick. She felt the pull of her panties against her crotch, soaked under the faded cutoffs, and glanced down to see her taut nipples prodding the front of her tanktop. "I'm so horny," she blurted.

"You're not the one who just watched her boyfriend come all over your best friend's face," Val sighed, a burr in her voice. "You have no idea how hot that was."

Elle giggled, a little too loudly, thinking of the heat of Ben's semen spattering her. "I think I do," she said in a rush as they arrived at Val's door. Ben's dried come, straggling along the edges of her face where her hasty pass with the baby-wipes had missed out, was turning her on. He stood just inside, holding it open with a weirdly emotionless look on his face. She hesitated, thinking of what she was about to do, of the role he'd played in it, and she raised herself on her tiptoes to plant a gentle kiss on his cheek. "Thanks, Benoit," she told him softly.

"Don't thank him," Val chuckled, tugging at Elle's hand. She'd already pulled out her earrings into a careless heap in the bowl where Ben had put her keys. "He got plenty out of it, and he'll get a whole bunch more later on," she went on, glaring up at him with bold eyes as she snaked her other hand out and jocked his package crudely. "Mine," she said simply. "I'll let you know when we're done."

"Bullshit." His voice, too was scratchy. "You watched me come, so I get to watch you."

"Whatever." She led Elle strongly through her living room, an impatient rider eager to mount. "Get in here, Ellie."

Elle needed no urging, passing her friend with a sweep of her hand across the other woman's firm butt. "You don't have to tell me twice."

"I know." Val had a wickedly curved smirk on her face as she regarded her friend, stepping out of her fuck-me heels. "Get on the bed," she directed, her tone straining hard to stay light. Cool. As if she didn't care.

But she did, her eyes smoldering as she nodded once at Elle, then slipped her sequined top straight up and over her head. Her bra was a confection, red lace and black silk frothing her astonishing cleavage, and as Elle collapsed onto the mattress she felt her breath catch at the sight of her friend's body.

It was sublime, a smoothly curved statue, a Renaissance study, marble-pale as a shocking contrast to the extravagant bra. Her skirt followed, carelessly, showing a matching thong stretched sheer and damp across her puffed labia. Elle knew her mouth had fallen open, and when Val caught sight of her face a read flush began to spread up from her trembly breasts, matching the lace. "You like my underwear, Ellie baby?" Val husked, her body shadowed by the light of her bedside lamp.

Elle could only nod, wordless, her pussy raging. She blinked suddenly, the reality of all this, the summit of years and years of yearning, smacking her in the face as Val preened for her. "My god," she managed, an awed supplicant at a chapel, and she felt a tremor pass through her, her thin clothes imprisoning her. "Fuck," she whispered to herself, making her hands and arms move, whipping her top off over her head to join Val's crumpled skirt. She worked on her shorts, her breasts bobbing in the lamplight, vaguely aware of Ben moving silently into the room behind his girlfriend.

"You can sit in the corner," Val announced loftily, not even looking at Ben; she stood strong and graceful, letting them both admire her, her hand trailing down her belly and into her waistband. "That's it," she said, a low hushed voice, dead serious now. "Get naked for me, Danielle."

Elle heard a whimper make its way out of her throat, a strangled whine of longing, her fingers desperate now at her shorts. They came apart at last, the denim straining over her supple hips, then slipping down her legs along with the panties beneath, and then she was there on this bed she'd longed to lie in, fully exposed, her hands demure in her lap while her friends stared down at her.

Just an hour ago, Elle had been nude in front of dozens of people, flinging her body around, every part of her exposed under harsh stage lights. She'd strutted proudly before glitter-eyed Val, head up, body in smooth artist's motion. She'd knelt naked beneath Ben, gazing up at his magnificently hard penis as it erupted on her skin.

But this was different. This was a pair of silent, considered gazes. This was judgement. "Lie back," came Val's soft order from that shadowed figure, and Elle obeyed with her taut dancer's grace, the duvet accepting her, arms and legs spread automatically. She looked down her own body, seeing her little breasts rising and falling in tense rhythm, her mound a shadowed valley further down, with Val standing proud above her.

A silent moment, then the next command, rolling hoarsely from the dim room. "Slide up onto the pillow, Ellie my love." She nodded, backing up the bed on her elbows, her feet leaving the floor until her legs rested, spread and electric with tension, on the bed. "Gorgeous," came the murmur, and Elle felt a harsh ringing in her ears, her body shuddering: again, judgement. She was acceptable. "You were gorgeous on the stage, too, honey. You're a beautiful dancer." Elle wanted to reply, but she was out of words.

And Valerie wasn't really expecting any, slowly sauntering toward the side of her bed, the side of her lover. She stood above Val, her eyes roving along the smaller woman's fine, smooth legs, to the swollen red wreck this night had already made of her slit. "I've never seen a woman so wet," Val sighed, shaking her head. An impish smile fluttered to her face as, slowly, she pulled her waistband away from her own mound and looked down. "Well. Almost never," she whispered, those big dark eyes flickering to Elle's face. "Would you like to see my cunt, Elle?" she demanded, the word shaking them both. "Would you like to see how wet you've made me?"