The Strip Ch. 02

Edited by NaughtyMike

Duane and I continued to date after our memorable visit to the Strawberry, but nothing more was mentioned about the possibility of my performing a strip-tease. He had no way of knowing that I was very busy practicing my dancing and experimenting with various music and clothes.

We saw each other several nights a week and made out at the end of each date. I allowed Duane reach up under my top and caress my breasts through my bra, but I always stopped him when he tried to slip his hand down my pants. As much as I wanted my kitty petted, I was saving it for a special occasion.

After two weeks of dating and increasingly desperate kisses and fondlings, I finally told Duane that I would spend the night with him at his place, a double-wide he shared with a guy named Darby. The few times I'd been by, Darby had either been out or had not bothered to come out of his room to visit. He had only nodded and mumbled a semi-polite greeting when we were first introduced. A more charitable soul than I would probably have called him shy. I just called him an unsociable cuss. Take your pick. But no matter, I was confident Darby would not be in the way on the “Big Night”.

On the appointed evening, Duane and I went to a movie and then came back to the trailer. I'd told him I had something planned, but I refused to elaborate, no matter how Duane tried to sweet-talk me. Oh, I how loved being the Woman of Mystery!

The first thing I did when we got inside was to have Duane show me how to work the stereo. He had a fairly big new model that looked complicated enough to drive the space shuttle. He said he'd paid just $150 for it, but he didn't seem eager to say just how he'd managed this wondrous feat. I got the distinct it was in some way illegal, immoral, or fattening.

Once I had the basics down, I arranged the three songs I had chosen to dance to, without letting Duane see what they were. Then I got him a beer from the fridge to keep him occupied, and I took myself and my duffel bag into the bedroom to change.

On the way, I tapped on Darby's door, stuck my head in and said "Look Darby, me and Duane are alone out here, got it?" Darby didn't even look up from his computer, just shrugged and muttered "Yeah, yeah, I heard you, whatever." Satisfied that he was out of the way, I headed on in to get dolled up.

When I emerged from the bedroom, Duane was sitting on the couch drinking his Budweiser. When he saw me, he did a double take and stared. "What are you supposed to be?" he wanted to know. I just smiled mysteriously.

Duane had good cause to be startled. I'd gone into his room looking like I usually did, in tight-fitting camel toe jeans, a T-shirt and sneakers. But I'd come out in a short white skirt, a red, white and blue floral-print blouse tied beneath my breasts and my favorite bright-red four-inch stiletto heels. I was quite the sight if I must say so myself.

I picked up the TV remote and channel-surfed with the volume off until I found one of those Japanese cartoons on cable, the kind that's mostly those flashing colored lights that can give you seizures if you look at them directly for too long. That was the closest I could come to disco lights, and with the room lights turned off, the effect wasn't half-bad.

As I turned on the stereo I looked at Duane to see his reaction. The penny had dropped and so had his jaw. I think he'd probably pretty much forgotten that he'd suggested I strip for him, but he was remembering now.

The first song I'd chosen was Def Leppard's "Pour Some Sugar on Me." As it began, I suddenly felt nervous, a little stage fright, butterflies in the stomach. Duane was staring at me so intently with those amazing icy blue eyes of his, I felt like I had a big camera and spotlights trained on me. To keep from freaking out, I pretended to myself that nobody was actually watching me. It was time to set the butterflies free.

I moved around the center of the room, concentrating on the music. Every so often, I'd let my fingers brush the inside of my thigh, on my ass or across my breasts as if by accident. Once, as I got more comfortable, I put my finger in my mouth, sucked on it, and then ran the wet finger down between my breasts. Toward the end of the song, I removed my first piece of clothing. I turned my back and bent forward slightly, so that Duane, if he cared to, could see up the back of my skirt and catch a glimpse of my red panties. They were tight against my ass and pussy. I was sure he could see an outline of my swollen lips through the red satin material.

In that position I undid the front of the little blouse and stood up, turning as the garment slid off my shoulders. Underneath it I had on a white lace underwire bra, the fabric so thin that my peach-colored nipples were plainly visible, made even more so when I rubbed them between my fingers to get them to perk up. I think I heard Duane sigh longingly at this point, and I risked a glance at him to check his reaction. He was watching me with his full attention, and thee was a noticeable lump in the front of his to-tight jeans. I was clearly having the desired effect. The butterflies had clearly left. Come to think of it, my own Miss Kitty was beginning to wake up and take an interest in the proceedings.

My second song was now starting. It was that old standby, "Cradle of Love" by Billy Idol. It has a fast beat and is perfect for stripping. I picked up the tempo and really got into it, bumping my hips and wishing I had tits big enough to bounce around. But I think that when the angels were handing out jugs, I thought they said mugs and wanted mine small and cute.

Dancing around in my bra, it was now it was time to shed my skirt. I undid the button at the top and teasingly shimmied it downward, a little bit at a time. Finally I stepped out of it with my left leg while keeping it on my right. Then came the move I'd had to practice for ages to get it as exactly right. I extended my right leg, at waist level and twirled it a little, like a can-can dancer, letting the skirt sail off my high heel and fall onto the chair where I'd dropped my blouse-perfect. Of course I would've stood a good chance of falling and breaking my neck if hadn't strategically placed myself next to the TV so I could brace one hand on it while I did it.

I was now clad only in the heels, my barely-there bra and my tight red panties which had some notable dampness at this point. I'd worked up a bit of a sweat dancing, and my skin glistened under the purple and red flashes of light that were just then emanating from the TV screen. Duane’s eyes were glued to my every move. He watched me as I shook my ass and rubbed my pussy while I danced. His eyes followed my hands up to my breasts as I squeezed them together to form some cleavage. I then rubbed my fingers again over my peachy nipples as long as they were there. Duane didn’t miss a move. I decided that a little audience participation was called for the next step.

"Are you still with me, Duane?" I asked rhetorically. His nod and drool signified that he was. I walked over to him, (I'd intended to employ the ubiquitous ass-in-the-air stripper's crawl here, but thought better of it when I saw the state of the carpet) leaned over and said "Then help me off with this, would you?"

Duane gleamed like a kid on Christmas morning. He was so excited he couldn't find the clasp to open my bra, even though it was right in the front. He had to run his hands slowly all over my tits several times before he found it. Once the bra was off, I stood fast and let him get a real good look at what he just liberated. He squeezed them to test for firmness and rubbed his thumb over each nipple just to make sure they responded properly. He was about to move in for a taste test, but I wasn't allowing that quite yet.

I was gently reclaiming my breasts when I heard a noise behind me and spun around. Fucking Darby stood in the living room, mouth agape, staring at me like I was Thanksgiving dinner and he going to get some. "What the fuck are you doing out here?" I demanded, too annoyed to mince words. His mouth worked, his eyes remaining on my tits the whole time. I hate it when a guy won't look me in the eye.

"Only... going... beer" Darby stuttered lamely, still ogling. He adjusted his pants but not before I saw what he meant to be concealing.

"Well, go on the wagon for tonight!" I snapped and shoved him back into his room. I my heels I was at least three inches taller than the little fuck and he didn't resist when I banged his door shut.

When I returned to the living room my third song was just starting. It was "Closer" by Nine Inch Nails. That song is slower, which would give me a much-needed break from dancing so fast. I was getting hot, and Duane was too, apparently by his bulge. He'd had doffed his T-shirt somewhere along the line.

"Closer" is also quite long. It's also the one that rhymes violate with penetrate with desecrate and the chorus contains the refrain "I wanna fuck you like an animal." In other words, just exactly what I had in mind. I had Duane remove my red panties while I stood in front of him, sideways so he had to reach around me to get the other side down. I backed away and slid them the rest of the way down and off, not trying any fancy twirls this time.

Now I was down to my final concession to modesty: a tiny, almost transparent white lace thong. It barely covered the essentials. I thought it looked especially nice on me since I shaved all my pubic hair off and the material fit tight over my pale smooth pussy lips.

I swayed and pumped my hips to the music for a minute then decided to take the plunge. I slid out of the thong and approached my audience of one, who stared rapturously at my uncovered pussy, the lips of which were now extremely puffy and wet. I was aching for some cock.

I squatted down o the floor next to where Duane was sitting on the couch. He was sporting quite the boner and I quickly undid the fly buttons on his Levi's. His cock almost hit me in the eye when it bounced free. I would say it was maybe nine inches, moderately thick and without a curve.

I made my oral approach from the side, so Duane could watch the colored cartoon lasers lighting up my face and his dick at the same time. I started licking the shaft candy-cane fashion, up, down, and spirally, and then around and around the head like it was the very best ice cream cone, making alluring little slurping sounds all the while. It would have made a great porno pose. To bad Darby missed it.

I was all set to move to the front and take that bad boy all the way in my mouth, but then Duane did something that surprised me. As I began to shift positions, he suddenly grabbed hold of me, lifted me up bodily and set me down on my back on the coffee table in front of the couch. It was a wooden coffee table with a glass top. The table had seen better days; one leg had evidently been broken and was now wired in place. I'd thought about lying down on this table during my show and perhaps fucking myself with the neck of a beer bottle, but I'd changed my mind once I'd seen that busted leg.

Duane didn't seem to be much worried about breaking down the table, as he just plopped me down on it like a sack of potatoes. In the same motion, he lifted my legs and set them on the couch and then slid down onto the floor between them, where he proceeded to bury his face in my pussy.

I went "Ohhhh!" without meaning to at the first lick directly over the red button. Duane didn't waste much time teasing. He went right for the gold. While he was licking and sucking on my clit, he slid two fingers inside and pushed up firmly. In less time than it's taken to write it, he had me coming just as hard as I've ever come, before or since. I juiced all over his face. This did not deter Duane as his tongue kept working over Miss Kitty. I was feeling a bit faint as the blood left my head.

He kept at it till I finally gasped "Okay! Stop!" While I tried to get my breath back, he licked/kissed his way up my body to my tits where he would suck on the nipple of one and knead and squeeze the other by hand. I could feel myself building up to another climax when Duane suddenly left my tits alone and leaned up to kiss me on the lips, hard. I tasted myself, a first. I didn't even care. I don't think I've mentioned yet that Duane was/is an excellent kisser, but there it is. I could have done that for hours, but he had other ideas. Without preamble he suddenly thrust his nine inch dick inside of me.

He was not particularly gentle, not at all, and it knocked the wind out of me so that he had started a furious thrusting rhythm by the time I recovered enough to wrap my legs around him and keep up .I'd never been a real big fan of roughness, but right now I wouldn't have traded what I was getting for anything. I am sure the table felt differently. That poor old piece of furniture squeaked and groaned alarmingly. At least, I think the table made most of the noise.

I didn't realize I'd been sort of chanting "Fuck me, fuck me!" till Duane said right in my ear, sounding just slightly aggravated, "I am fucking you, what's it feel like? Now hush up!" So I did, I hushed up. I could feel his big cock inside me, tearing my pussy up. I knew I would walk funny the next day. We both came, seconds apart, him blowing a load that felt the size of Lake Superior up inside me. His hot cum filled me to the brim.

My own orgasm felt like a free fall and an earthquake rolled into one. Afterwards, we lay on the carpet (to spare the complaining table further mistreatment) and rested. My tape had long since stopped and the radio was playing a commercial for Dunkin Donuts. I'll never look at a Coolada the same way again.

Finally Duane stood up, helping me to my feet after him. We wobbled off to the bedroom and tumbled into bed. We were completely spent, worn out. As I settled down, Duane, without being prompted, reached out and pulled me in close to him, so that we lay spoon-fashion with his face nuzzled into my hair. He was out like a light almost immediately.

I was just dropping off myself when I heard Darby come out of the shower and go into his room. I had completely lost track of him in all the excitement. I heard his mattress creak when he got in bed, and then other sounds which I had no trouble deciphering. He made no attempt to hide his whimpers and gasps and heavy breathing, and even less of an attempt to hold back the loud groan he finished up with. I think he did some peeking from his room when I wasn’t looking.