Ho, ho, bloody ho.
As you may or many not be able to tell, I am not particularly in the Christmas spirit. Okay, yes I am dressed as Mrs. Claus (short red satin skirt and hooded top edged with white fake fur) but I am freezing my ample butt off here whilst Mr. Claus (AKA Chris my boyfriend) gabs on his mobile phone.
I really don’t want to go to this stupid fancy dress party anyway. I won’t know anyone and I hate going to Chris’s work do’s. They’re all geeky computer types who can only talk about technology or Star Wars and I just end up stood in a corner, sighing. Chris somehow persuaded me in the end, though. Well, he mythered and mythered ’til I just yelled, “Yes, alright!” and then I couldn’t take it back.
I’ve walked twenty minutes in sub zero temperatures because his old banger of a car went bang and would no longer work. And now he is on his bleeding phone, standing on the corner gabbing away contentedly in his warm fur-trimmed red trousers and coat whilst I dance around in my stiletto heels (Damn, my feet are killing me) and white fishnet tights. Viciously I prod Santa in the ribs and give him one of my most feared pissed-off looks.
“I have to go; the missus is starting to ice up,” he sniggers into the phone. “See you later.”
“Well I am glad you find this amusing. I am bloody freezing,” I snap.
“Aw, Honey.” He strokes my arm, but I snatch it away from him grumpily. “I’m sorry but it’ll be worth it, I promise you that.” He grins at me, kissing my cheek. I can’t dodge it; he’s too quick.
“Come here, I’ll keep you warm.”
Without warning, he wraps his arms around me, gathering me up in his cloak, holding me close and kissing my lips with tender passion and heated love.
“Hey, that’s not fair,” I giggle, (I seem to be defrosting.) still wrapped in his arms. “I was trying to be mad at you.” Again he presses his lips to mine and all protests die, deprived of oxygen by that long lingering kiss.
“Come on then Mrs. Claus, or we’ll be late for the ball.” Suddenly the warming arms are taken away from me and the chill breeze continues to whip around my legs. “Alright, alright,” I sigh, “I’m coming.”
* * * *
I can feel the sensation coming back into my legs; it’s at once ecstasy and pain. The hall is, well, your typical community centre hall, musty, cobwebbed and dark. It smells like school assemblies and Mothers Union meetings. However, there’s nobody here, not that I can see anyway.
“Are we early?” I ask.
“No, baby, we’re right on time,” Chris replies, smiling suspiciously.
“Well, erm, why is it so quiet? I thought this was a damn partyï¿½quot; It was bad enough being dragged out in the cold for a big social occasion but this poor excuse for a get together just adds insult to injury. “…And hey, why are we the only ones in fancy dress!”
That’s it. Now I am really steamed up. I have been patient; I have been bloody saint -like in my suffering but now my red-headed anger is bubbling at the surface.
“I can explain, sugar. Come on in here. I have a surprise for you.” Gently, Chris lays a hand on my arm and smiles at me, his blue eyes twinkling with mischief
“You better have a good explanation mate…” I grumble, snatching my arm away from his grasp again. “Or you’ll be girlfriendless!”
He herds me into a small, damp-smelling side room. “Put the light on Chris,” I snap, “It smells like something died in here. I don’t want to tread in it if it did.”
Click, click. “I can’t, sugar. The light’s broken. Just listen to me and then we’ll go back to the party.” I could hear the desperate edge in his voice so I decided to stay and listen. Dramatic storm outs always work better mid conversation anyway.
“Okay, promise you won’t be mad.” That is never a good start; it means you are going to hear something to make you angry.
“Go on,” I growl menacingly, I sure as hell am not going to agree to stay calm when I am already this pissed off.
“Well you know some of the guy’s and I get together and play cards sometimes? Well last time I sorta, well I kind of, lost.”
“Yeah. And…?” I roll my eyes sarcastically, though it’s a bit of a waste, considering the circumstances.
“Well basically we had bet on the game and it was decided whoever lost had to erm, provide stuff for this party.”
“Bloody Hell Chris, what kind of stuff?” My mind was going round and round thinking of what he could possibly mean. “Stuff? Well I’d have done a buffet, but you never asked. Oh don’t tell me you forgot. No, when you say stuff you meanï¿½fuck, I don’t know where the hell to get drugs and you sure as hell don’t. Hey you don’t, do you? You’re not secretly some kind of…”
“No, no,” Chris’s calm voice cuts in to my insane panicky ramblings. “We have to provide the entertainment.”
“The, er, entertainment, love. They need a stripper….”
I’d thump him if I could see him. A stripper? Well, now the light dawns. He insisted I get this outfit, fishnets and all. He pleaded, he begged me to come to this alleged party. I wondered why he was so desperate for me to be here.
“Well, this is a surprise,” I say calmly, taking a deep breath “but it’s your sodding bet so you can bloody well do the strip.”
“Honey, they need a woman. That bet was for you to strip,” he pleads with me, putting on his best-worried rabbit in the headlight look.
“Excuse me. You bet and you lost but I have to strip. Something isn’t right there. It doesn’t add up. I did not lose any bet. I did not agree to this. I am going home!”
I grab for the door handle but can’t find it. Chris’s hands smooth over my shoulders and his mouth presses against me in a placating kiss.
“You said you’d love to do this, remember? You told me you’d love to strip in front of an audience of appreciative menï¿½quot;
“That was just sex talk,” I gasp, “I can’t strip in front of your friends. What will they think of me?”
“They’re not really good friends, love. I’m not going to have anything to do with them after tonight, but I have to honour my bet. If you have a spare thousand pounds hanging around we could settle it that wayï¿½quot;
“You know very well that I don’t have that sort of money and I can’t do what you’re asking, I mean, they’ll see me all nakedï¿½quot;
“Your naked body is gorgeous. You’ll drive those men wild, babe. They’ll be no touching, no funny business; they agreed to that. They’ll just watch as you strip. You know you like to show off, babe. Remember the park?”
I do remember the park. It was a blazing hot day in July and we’d enjoyed a picnic in the shade of an ancient beech tree. We’d not been going out long and we were still in the ‘one lingering look and we’ll be having sex’ stage of the relationship. He was sat up, his legs kinda crossed and I was sitting in his lap, arms and legs wrapped round him, long skirt billowed out, covering up where his body joined mine. It just looked like we were hugging and kissing but we had sex right there with people walking past all the time. It really turned me on.
“That’s not the same as stripping for all those blokes. They’ll see my flabby bits.”
“Pfft, flabby bits? You’ll wow them, love. You’re gorgeous. I know you’ll enjoy it, I know it.”
“Okay.” I give in. “I’ll do it but don’t be surprised if I gamble away your damn clothes sometime soon.”
“Thank you, Thank you.” He grins, pulling me back out into the lighted hallway, dragging me towards the back of the stage before I change my mind. He kisses me, pinches my arse and steps out on stage to a giant roar of appreciation. Damn, when did all those people turn up?
I can’t hear a word he’s saying. I am so scared, my heart is thump, thump, thumping and my chest is heaving. I make a conscious effort to calm down. I can’t panic. I mustn’t panic. Oh hell, I am going to have to take my clothes off in front of a crowd of leering men. Yes, it is a fantasy I have from time to time; but everything is pure fun in fantasyland. I don’t have to worry about all my flabby bits flapping around or falling off the stage or having my boyfriend’s friends leering at me. Well, I guess I just have to do it now. I said I would. There is no way out of it. I’ll have to calm down and just pretend, Yeah, I’ll act like a stripper. I can’t go out there as me, no way. I’ll bottle it if I do that. I’ll keep thinking about my wobbly tum and my flobby thighs. No, I shall act sexy, slinky and strip for these guys because it’s no problem. I am a stripper and I do this kind of thing all the time. If I keep repeating that to myself, I may just pull it off.
As the first bars of music permeate my thoughts, I chant under my breath
“I am a stripper. I am a stripper. I am a stripper.”
Taking a deep breath, I walk onto the tiny wooden stage, a moth-eaten curtain behind me. All that I am aware of is the audience, the audience filled with gawping, staring, drooling young men. All their eyes on me. I can feel them, like pin pricks of heat all over my exposed flesh. With my mantra going round and round in my head, I begin to strut towards the front of the stage. I am conscious of every little move I make. My nipples are hard, my heart is fluttering and my breath is coming in gasps. I move slowly, with determination, swaying my hips with each stride. I can hear whistles and cat calls as I move, but nothing seems real; it is as if I’m in a dream. I take on the persona of a sexy star basking in the reaction of my crowd. I glance left and right, throwing winks and sexy looks at whoever catches my eye. I notice a hell of a lot more men have been packed into the hall now, sitting round tables, laughing, leering and drinking beer.
I am a stripper. I am a stripper. I am a stripper.
A strange feeling sweeps over me, I feel powerful and in control. This is my space, this is my stage and I am going to give these lecherous beasts the thrill of their lives. I sway seductively and close my eyes. I concentrate on the movements of my body, the beating of my heart and the throbbing of my pussy. I am actually turned on, but then who wouldn’t be? Every man in this room wants me right now. My eyes flash open at this revelation and I look into the crowd. They look like a pack or ravenous wolves watching, waiting for their prey to falter and fail. They want meat, flesh. I’ll give them flesh.
I am a stripper. I am a stripper I am a stripper.
Coming forward to the front of the stage, I give an exaggerated wink before turning my back to the masses. I unhook the button on the front of my top with quivering fingers and let the soft satin material fall from my shoulders. I must look so slutty now, in my short, short skirt and my deep red bra. I turn round and shimmy, shaking my breasts within their confines, making them wobble and strain to escape. I unzip my skirt, turned towards the sea of faces this time. I catch snap shots of lust as my gaze wanders around the crowd. I see one guy gasp as I drop my skirt. My stocking covered legs now revealed, my deep red satin knickers exposed to the world.
Twisting and turning slowly, I let my audience appreciate the sight before them. I can sense the lust and longing in the room. Those men want me. They want me! I am so surprised by how good this is making me feel. I milk it for all it’s worth. I run my hands over my breasts and down to my thighs, teasing my skin with my caress. I am so hot, so turned on, I feel like a bitch in heat.
Nothing can stop me now; I am carried along on a wave of power and sexuality. I unbuckle my bra and let it fall to the ground. I hear the hoops and hollers of appreciation as I twist and turn my body, arching my back I present my tits as an offering, Pulling and pawing at them in a sacrifice of sexual frenzy.
One hand continues to caress my breast as the other slips down over the curve of my stomach and works its way under the waistband of my knickers. My finger extends down and makes contact with my hot throbbing clit. I hiss with pleasure. I am lost in my own arousal, only barely aware of the gasps and groans of the men watching me. I rub my finger in my juices, play with my clit and moan wantonly.
“Gerr’em off!” I hear a loud cry.
“Show us ya pussy!” another voice chimes in.
“Shake that booty!” yet another gruff tone yells out.
I look down onto the crowd and smile seductively before once again turning my back. This time I peel myself out of my panties, rolling them down my legs, slowly exposing my big, peachy ass. I wiggle and bounce as I mock struggle out of my panties. I hear the appreciative groans with each ripple of my butt.
Still bent over I reach back and slap my buttock. I keep slapping for a while, oh, it feels so good. I swap hands and bring a rosy color to the other cheek. I just feel like such a slut, spanking myself in front of these men. I can hear panting and heavy breathing, moaning and chairs squeaking. They’re getting off on my sex show.
Suddenly I sense the silence. I stand up and turn around as the room erupts with applause and wolf whistles. I grin, curtsey and blow a few kisses into the crowd, then scurry around picking up my discarded clothes. I dart across the stage, my outfit clutched to me as I head for the cleaning closet. All the power and confidence supplied by the space afforded to me on the stage dissipates, and my heart thumps with genuine fear as I rush down the corridor, listening to the baying crowd and hoping none of them are lingering between me and my make-shift changing room.
I slam the door as I scamper inside. The musty smell and the close, bland walls now seem comforting. I sling on my Santa top and skirt. No time for underwear; I’m in a panic now. I’m embarrassed by my behaviour and I just want to get home. I must find Chris and get out. I really don’t want to be eaten alive by my appreciative audience. Well, maybe I do and that’s what’s worrying me. Grrr, I’m going to kill that boyfriend of mine for putting me in such a position. But there is no denying that I enjoyed it whilst I was doing it. Chris is going to have to deal with my excitement. When I get home, I need to fuck right away. I’ll give him the lecture later. I am still so hot, so exhilarated even though I am frightened. A heart-thumping buzz seeps through my whole body. I long for my boyfriend’s hard cock.
As if summoned by my wish, the door opens. In the blink of an eye Chris is holding me tight, cuddling me close. There is no need for words. I know he is thankful and he knows I accept his thankså”or the moment.
His hands begin to wander. I realise his cock is hard and aroused and pressing into the softness of my thigh. His lips meet mine in a demanding kiss, whilst his hands reach up under my top and massage my breasts, tweaking my sensitive nipples. I moan longingly into his mouth. I know we should be leaving. Part of me aches to get home but the bigger part of me longs for cock and longs for it right now.
He must be reading my thoughts, because suddenly my back is up against the wall and his hands are fumbling with his Santa pants. I watch as they drop to the floor, exposing his hard cock. My mouth waters at the sight of it. A quick glance is all I get as Chris presses his body to mine, thrusting his hardness up between my satin soft thighs until he reaches the warm velvety confines of my hot, wet cunt.
We both groan in appreciation as his cock slides in. I close my eyes and savour him. His mouth is on my neck. Kissing and licking it, his teeth grazing then biting into the soft flesh. My hands rake through my lover’s hair, pulling him closer to me. His thrusts are urgent and demanding. He fills me, stretches me; satisfies the ache left from my exhibitionist behaviour on the stage.
My body is tightening, pressure building with each thrust of Chris’s strong hips. I am going to flood him with my juices. I am going to squeeze and massage his cock ’til it spurts deep inside my pussy.
“Yes,” I cry, as finally my body convulses in a mind bending, toe curling orgasm. “Yes, yes, oh fuck, yes!” I scream at the top of my voice while a growl issues from my lover’s lips. He stiffens and jerks, pumping his orgasm deep inside of me. We cling to each other, panting and shaking from our sexual exertions. As I come down from my rapturous high I hear the door clicking and look up, startled.
“Chris, I think someone was watching us,” I whisper into his ear.
“Really, love?” Chris asks, slipping from inside me and smoothing down my skirt. “Oh they got a great bonus there, then.” He smiles and winks at me. “Damn, baby, you are fucking hot. I couldn’t believe it was you up there on the stage. It was like you were a professional or something.”
My cheeks flush and turn pink at his comments and I bury my head into his shoulder, overtaken by a sudden shyness.
“Come on, Sweets, let’s get home. I’m not finished with you yet. I’m getting hard again already just thinking about you pulling off those red knickers on that stage.”
“Okay, love. I won’t argue with that because you’ve got one hell of a lot of making up to do, you know.” I laugh and he sighs. I open the door and he places a kiss on the nape of my neck.
“Thank you. I love you,” he whispers.
“Love you, too,” I reply. “And it’s a damn good job, really.”
“I’m a lucky bugger.” He grins and we walk quickly towards the exit door.
I’m glad to see he has a taxi waiting for us and I eagerly climb into it, forgetting my lack of underwear. A gust of cold, snow-filled wind whips up my skirt into the air and I hear an appreciative groan from Chris standing behind me.
“Get us back as quick as you can, mate,” Chris says to the driver. “I’ve got a Christmas present to unwrap when I get home.”