Nikkita's Blow Job

My rusted, green Toyota Tercel pulls into the mall parking lot. I pick a spot at the back, beyond where even employees park. The next car is a blue pickup 20 spots away. No one parks here, except at Christmas. But I know that I'll soon need the privacy.

I'm a freak, a cross-dresser, a sex weirdo. I've driven to this suburban shopping center an hour from my apartment to indulge in my kinkiest fantasy. I've taken every precaution that I know to take. I don't want to get caught by co-workers, friends or anyone else who might know me. But the thought that I might engorges my cock.

I've come to this point many times. And each time, I've chickened out, gone home and jerked off to Internet porn. But not today. I've come prepared.

I put the portable DVD player on my lap with the blank screen facing me. I cue up a strip tease of Tanya Danielle. She's a blonde with massive tits who reminds me of why I've come to the mall. It's the lingerie that does it for me. Tanya is wearing a thong and a blue corset top. I cross my arms and pinch my nipples. As Tanya gyrates to a techno beat, I roll my nips between my forefingers and thumbs. My meat pole tingles. I imagine myself wearing Tanya's slutty, little stripper outfit. The DVD has restored my lust-frenzy. I'm ready to go.

I fold up the DVD player and slide it under the passenger seat. I step out of the car with a boner that's trying to tear out of my jeans. The heat outside is stifling. Without the car's air conditioning, I immediately begin to sweat. I lock the car door and head toward the entrance.

My cock bobs as I walk, rubbing against my boxers. This stiffy isn't going anywhere. I try pulling down my tie-dye shirt to hide my appendage. But it's way too short. Anyone who looks in the general direction of my crotch will know how horny I am.

I'm nearing the mall entrance. I'm close enough to see everyone who comes in and out. I check my watch. It's 11:28 a.m. on a Tuesday. Traffic is light, just as I'd hoped. An old man wearing a nylon jogging suit steps outside. He holds the door open for a soccer mom who looks like she's just dropped off the kids at school and is ready to spend her husband's paycheck. She says "thank you" to the old man and walks inside. The door closes behind her.

When I open the door, I'm blasted in the face with air-conditioning and the smell of cinnamon buns. I've come in next to the Cinnabon store. A senior-citizen mall walker rushes by me with elbows jabbing into the air as I make my way down this side hallway. I pass the Regis hair salon, the Spencer gift shop and the kiosk map. So far, so good. No one seems to notice me. My cock is still stiff.

I hit the down escalator and round the corner to the right. There it is, in all it's pink splendor. Victoria's Secret.

My chest tightens. I can barely breathe. My steps become labored. The pure lust-excitement of my mission is too much for my brain to handle. I think, "Fuck it. I'm going home." But, no, I can't. Not this time. I sit on the brick edge of a water fountain and search for the courage. I find none but soon learn that I don't need it. I find another source of inspiration. It hits me like a lightning bolt.

The Victoria's Secret clerk. She's folding panties near the front of the store. She has long, black hair and white skin as smooth as a porcelain doll. Her flimsy, leopard-print dress shows off all her curves -- and she's got them in all the right places. I'd guess she's in her early 20s. A lanyard with a name tag hangs in her cleavage. Like Tanya, this little tart has reminded me of why I've come -- my perversion, my fantasy. I picture myself in her place. Folding panties while wearing a flimsy dress. The blood rushes to my cock.

I stand up, feeling refreshed. My boner hangs with me, as hard as ever. But I'm not ashamed of it anymore. It's just the opposite. I want people to see it. I want them to know what kind of a sex freak I am.

As I step onto the pink, Victoria's Secret carpeting, I put a faggy lilt in my step. I walk with sexy confidence to a rack of corsets.

The clerk is on top of me in less than 30 seconds.

"Can I help you?" she asks.

I look over my shoulder at the name tag between her tits. It says "Cory." She bats her eyelashes at me.

"No thanks, I say.

The hanger squeaks as I push aside a red corset. Cory is still there.

"Are you looking for a gift for your girlfriend?" she asks.

Any blood that isn't in my cock rushes to my head. My response to Cory's question leaps into my mind. I turn around to face her. She glances at the bulge in my jeans. Her eyes are like saucers when she looks back up.

"No," I say. "I'm getting a little something for myself."

I can tell by the look in her eyes that she knows she has a Grade A sex freak on her hands. She's alone in the store and scared. Her heel catches the carpet as she steps backward. She almost tumbles but catches herself on a table full of bras.

"O-o-o-k," she stammers. "I'll be over here if you need anything."

Cory hurries to the cash register counter. She picks up the phone and dials a number. She eyes me the whole time she's talking. Cory is keeping her voice low so that I can't hear her.

I'm wondering if she's calling mall security. I remind myself that I'm not doing anything illegal or, as far as I know, against mall policy. I go back to the corset rack.

I squeak through a few more corsets until I find the one I want. I can hardly believe my eyes when I see it. The exact same corset Tanya was wearing in the video. It's blue with frilly shoulder straps and about a dozen hooks that hold it together in the back. I check the cups. Removable pads. Perfect. The thong is included. Even better.

Cory's hands are shaking as she scans the price tags at the register. But she still goes through the motions.

"Would you like to sign up for a Victoria's Secret card today and save 15 percent?" she asks.

"No thanks," I say.

Cory neatly folds the corset and panties and puts them in a striped pink bag. I swipe my credit card. A receipt pops out of the register. I sign it. I'm out $73.04, but I don't care. I've got one sexy outfit.

I proudly swing my bag back and forth as I head out of the store. Out by the fountain is a mall cop. He's wearing a neatly pressed uniform that looks like he's just come from the police academy. But he has no gun on his belt. Only a squawking CB. The patch on his shirt says "Oak Grove Security."

He's scowling at me. I wink flirtatiously and head back to my car.

Back in the driver's seat, I pull the corset out of the bag. I press my nose into it. The garment is slightly perfumed. Just enough to smell clean and feminine. I put it back in the bag without folding it and start the car.

I hang a right out of the mall, cross Van Buren Boulevard and then hang a left into a Burger King. Shania Twain sings "Man, I Feel Like a Woman" on the radio. I smile.

I pull into a spot on the side of the restaurant. Only a few other cars are in the lot. The lunch rush hasn't begun. I shove the corset into the waistline of my pants and let my T-shirt hang over it. Then I stuff the thong in my pocket and put the pink bag under the seat with the DVD player.

I step out of my car and head for the side door. I immediately smell the frying grease as I step inside. An old codger wearing a green John Deere cap reads the paper and sips coffee in one of the booths. He ignores me as I casually walk by him. My destination is the men's room.

I've lucked out. This fast-food restaurant has a one-toilet restroom with a lock on the door. It clicks into place. And I strip naked, except for my white tube socks. I lay my clothes on the sink, which is dry.

I slide on the thong. The string in back settles comfortably up my ass crack. I struggle to fit my cock and balls into the little triangle of fabric up front. They keep slipping out one side or the other. But I finally corral the whole package. My cock points straight up, the underside straining against the silky, see-through fabric. I like how the thong feels. My stepsister once told me if feels like having dental floss up your butt. But not to me. The string fits snuggly, constantly reminding me of my budding femininity.

I go for the corset. I strip the pads out of the cups and throw them in the garbage. I know that I'll want to pinch my nipples. The less fabric between them and my fingers, the better.

I suck in my gut and begin putting on the corset backwards. There's no way I'd be able to fasten those metal hooks behind my back. Once I have all 12 of them secured, I twist the corset around my body until it faces forward. As I slip my arms through the frilly straps, the cups lay firmly against my tits. I pull as much flesh as I can into the cups. When I'm done, I find that I can almost fill them out. The corset hugs me in all the right places. It's firm. But it's not suffocating me. My outfit has made me blissfully aware of my most sensual body parts. My breasts. My ass. My cock.

I put on my jeans and T-shirt over my new lingerie. My boxer shorts go in the garbage. I check out my reflection in the mirror. Anyone who looks at me for more than a second will notice two things: my boner and my tits. The corset has made them bulge. I blow myself a sexy, little kiss and then slip on my Nikes.

I head toward the car. The guy in the John Deere cap looks up as I walk by. I wink at him. He grunts and goes back to his paper.

Back in the car, I hang a left onto Van Buren and drive for 5 minutes before hitting the interstate. My heart thuds against my chest. I'm so horny and nervous, I can't identify what's playing on the radio, although I'm vaguely aware of a heavy beat. In about five minutes, I exit south on Schone Avenue. About a minute later, I see the purple sign off in the distance. The yellow neon letters say, "Platinum Plus."

I pull in and park out back. The club is always slow at this hour. I'm the only car in the rear lot. Everyone else is out front. But, again, I need privacy. I slip off my tie-dye shirt and quickly replace it with a short-sleeve collared shirt out of the L.L Bean catalog. This club has a dress code -- for the customers, anyway.

I walk around to the front and pull the brass knob on the wooden door. The air conditioning envelops me, gently caressing any skin that isn't covered by clothing. One of the strippers has been assigned to work the register at the front door. She wears a silver bikini that makes it look like she's carrying a couple of bowling balls on her chest. The stripper sits on a barstool with her legs crossed as she files her long, red nails.

I subtly stick out my chest to show her that a pervert had just entered her midst. If she notices my tits, she doesn't acknowledge it in anyway.

"Cover is $7.50," she says. "That includes the lunch buffet."

I hand her a twenty-dollar bill. She gives me most of my change in two-dollar bills, knowing that they'll end up in her co-workers' G-strings.

I stuff the money in my left pocket and walk down a hallway. I pass a guy punching numbers into an ATM machine and round a corner. Suddenly, I'm inside.

The place is the size of a warehouse and lit almost entirely by black lights. Techno music vibrates the ground. The bar and the stage closest to the entrance sit empty. All the action is at the other end of the room, where a petite blonde twirls around a pole.

The club is almost empty, but the noise and the darkness make it seem more full than it is. A guy wearing a tie is sitting stage side. Two Mexican dudes sit behind him and, a black guy is at a table behind them. A couple of guys at the bar work at plates stacked with food. They seem to have chosen their seats for their proximity to the buffet table and the television, which is playing ESPN sports bloopers. No one else is eating or watching TV.

I've been to strip clubs. Never wearing women's underwear, but I've seen enough to know the game. I don't sit stage side. It's too easy for the girl to come and get a tip. A greedy bitch can milk you for three or four bills in a single song. Fuck that. I sit at a table one row back. Even in the dim stage lights, I can clearly see the girl. But I'm far enough away to control the tipping. I choose when to get up, walk to the stage and give the girl some green.

I settle back in my leather chair and subtly pull my cock into position. It's pointed straight at my stomach. This will allow me to hump my silk panties while watching the girls dance.

The song fades and the blonde starts grabbing bills and lingerie off the stage. She exits down four steps that empty her into the audience, just off to my right. The club falls silent for two beats until the DJ fills the void.

"OK, guys, give it up for Mikki," he says. "She'll be available for a private dance, as are all the girls here at Platinum Plus. And remember to dig deep and tip big! That's how these girls make a living. And, now, get ready for more sexy fun. Coming to the stage is ... Nikkita."

A girl with short, brown hair click-clacks up the stairs in clear heels. She wears a short purple dress that shows off glittering silver thong with each switch of her hips. Nikkita looks like she's just turned 18. "Hit Me, Baby, One More Time" starts pumping from the speakers. Nikkita turns her back to the crowd and leans way over, grabbing the brass pole in the center of the stage. She slowly swings her ass to the right, then the left. Nikkita turns her head over her shoulder, her lips in a flirty pout. We make eye contact. I fold my arms and start rolling my nipples. Nikkita slowly runs two fingers across her pussy over her panties and then whips herself into a circle around the pole. I'm subtly moving my hips up and down, humping the silky fabric I've just bought.

One of the Mexican guys stands up and walks to the side of the stage with a two-dollar bill in his hand. He stands in front of the bottom step. Nikkita struts over and stands goes halfway down the steps. She presses her arms together and leans forward. Her tits press together, forming an amazing cleavage just inches from the Mexican dude's face. He's stands there as still as a statue. I can tell he's enjoying the show almost as much as I am.

Nikkita straightens her back and reaches behind her neck with one hand. She tugs at the tie holding together her dress. It all falls in one fluid motion, leaving her with nothing but the panties and the heels. Nikkita hooks a tractor-beam gaze into the guy and goes down to the bottom step. She puts his hands on the back of his neck to hold his head in place as she leans forward. His head is between her tits. Nikkita shakes the top half of her body. Her tits bounce off of the guy's cheeks. He gets about five wallops on each side before Nikkita leans back and pulls out the elastic on her panties. The Mexican dude inserts his bill. Nikkita allows the elastic to snap against the money. She smiles and winks at him and then climbs back up to the stage.

The song begins to fade out but is quickly replaced with another Britney Spears tune: "I'm a Slave 4 U." The DJ comes on over the music.

"OK, guys, Nikkita is comin' back at 'cha for one more song, so get out those wallets and show how much you appreciate her," he said.

I make sure my cock is in the upright position and head to the stage. I stand by the bottom step with my two-dollar bill, just like the Mexican guy. Nikkita notices me immediately. She sticks me with her sultry gaze and heads my way. She takes her time, keeping her eyes fixed on mine even as she comes down the steps. Nikkita is even more amazing up close. She has cute freckles all over her shoulders and smells like French perfume.

Her next move shocks me. She presses her palms against my tits and runs them down to the top of my pants. Tingles ripple through my body. I'm reminded of the under wire bra cups pressing into my flesh. I wonder if she can feel the embroidery in the corset.

Nikkita's hands move to my sides and then the small of my back as she leans in close. Her body heat covers me. Her breath is on my ear. Nikkita moans softly, as if she's just had the most satisfying orgasm of her life. She backs away. I feel her soft hands on the back of my neck. She guides my head between her tits. I get my smacks. Her tits are soft as silk pillows. She gently backs away from me and opens her G-string. I insert my bill. It snaps shut. Nikkita kisses me on the cheek and says, "thank you."

As I sit down, the black dude goes to the stage. Nikkita works him over. I almost cum while watching.

I watch Nikkita spend the rest of her set juicing the guy sitting stage side for four bills. As the song ends, a different stripper with long, black hair steps between the stage and me.

"Hi," she says. "How ya doin?"

She's snapping gum.

"Fine," I say.

"Want a lap dance?"

"No, thanks," I say. "Maybe later."

The stripper goes away.

I know the hustle with these chicks. If you say "yes" to the first dance, they'll think you're a sucker who can't say "no" to a woman. They'll come at you like locusts. You'll spend the rest of the day fighting them off.

I watch girls take turns on stage and totally lose track of time. I may be there 20 minutes or all day. The whole time I'm on the verge of jizzing in my panties. It's not that I'm opposed to doing so. I just want to make this sexual nirvana last as long as possible. I know that a lap dance would make me pop, so I turn down one after the other.

Then I find the chick I have to have, or rather she finds me.

I'm furiously humping my panties while watching a blonde on stage when I feel a hand on my shoulder. It's Nikkita. She smiles.

"Want a dance?" she asks.

"How much?" I ask.

"Thirty a song," she says.

"Let's go," I say.

Nikkita takes me by the hand and leads me across the club to an entryway near the bar. The yellow neon says, "VIP Room." It's even darker in there than it is out in the rest of the club. All the walls are covered in mirrors. Off in the corner, a stripper in a neon orange bikini is smothering a customer. Nikkita gestures for me to sit on a velvet couch. The cushions are long, forcing me to lean way back. I'm almost lying down. Nikkita perches on the edge of the cushion next to me. She's got her purple dress back on. Her back is straight. Her nipples are poking through the fabric.

We're waiting for the next song to start. The stripper on stage is still dancing to a Motley Crue song. It's an awkward moment. All I want is the lap dance. Nikkita wants to make small talk.

"So," she says. "Live around here long?"

"Couple years," I say.

"Cool," she says. "What do you do for fun?"

Blood rushes to my brain, just like in the Victoria's Secret. I decide to give Nikkita a brutally honest answer, just like I gave to the clerk back at the mall.

"Weird sex," I say.

Her lips curl up into a weird smile.

"That's interesting," she says. "What do you like?"

I'm shocked. Her voice has none of the fear and revulsion that Cory, the lingerie clerk, gave me.

"Putting on women's underwear and going to strip clubs," I say.

"Really?" she asks. "What are you wearing now?"

"Corset and thong," I say.

"Want to show me?" she asks.

Motley Crue fades out and a thumping techno beat starts.

"That's our song," I say. "Why don't you find out for yourself?"

Nikkita smiles and throws her leg over my lap. She's straddling me, grinding her pussy against my cock. The cum rises through my loins. I fight to hold it back.

With her sultry gaze fixed on me, Nikkita unbuttons the top of my shirt. She keeps dry-humping me as she works her way down. It's getting tougher to hold in my load. When she gets to the last button, Nikkita throws open the shirt, revealing the corset. She looks me up and down and then fixes her eyes on mine. She smiles, as if to say, "I like it."