by Al Daltrey
I was promoted to junior partner in our marketing consultancy firm, and we were doing well. We’d gone from 65 staff to 85 since I’d started there a year earlier. I helped land a few accounts myself, plus of course, there was the work that I did on the side for Benito and his holding company, Koobecaf Homes. Things were equally good for Chloe at the law firm where she worked. In a short time she had proven herself as one of the most reliable and efficient paralegal assistants.
Friends called when Pearl Jam rolled through town, and with the concert on a Saturday night, we were definitely in. Eight of us were going, but we bought two sets of four tickets, knowing eight in a row would kill any chance at good seats. The show was at the Shoreline Amphitheatre, and it rocked. Eddie and the boys delivered in spades.
Following the show, we agreed to go for drinks. Anything within a walkabout distance was already packed with overflow from the concert. Someone suggested we go to the Peppermint Club. Whereas at one time strip clubs were the exclusive domain of men, they were increasingly frequented by men and women, especially couples. Even the college kids were getting in on the action. The stigma of these clubs being sleazy and pervy was fading . ‘Sure, why not?’ we all agreed.
We all paid the cover charge, and with a little extra, they set us up at a good table. There was a constant parade of beautiful women, both up on the stage and at our table. We were continually propositioned for private dances in the VIP room. To my pleasant surprise, some of our friends selected a girl of their choosing, and took her up on the offer. Chloe and I played it cool, soaking in the atmosphere – but refraining from any private dances. I was drinking whiskey sours, and she was drinking gin and tonics. It was a fun vibe.
Two hours later, Chloe hastily nudged me with her elbow, “Look, look, look,” she said, “do you recognize her?”
Across the club I spotted a familiar face indeed. It was a girl we’d seen in our building. She was unmistakable. Exceptionally pretty and heavily tattooed and pierced. We had both commented on her when we saw her in and around the lobby. She looked like one of those girls from the ‘Suicide Girls’ website. So, she was a stripper. Interesting. She was standing at the mouth of the stairs that led to the main stage.
Just then we heard the cheesy announcer’s voice come over the PA system: “Please….put your hands together for the lovely and irreplaceable Sexi Lexi”
Lexi danced three songs up on the main stage, progressively removing more and more clothing during her routine. She had an array of artistically colorful tattoos which adorned her sexy figure. This chick is exotic, and fuck is she hot! Her arms and shoulders were done, as well as her thighs and calves. Both of her nipples were pierced with miniature barbells.
Chloe hit me with the idea before it even crossed my mind, “Would you like to get her for a VIP dance, together?”
Most of our friends left early, with those of us remaining having already moved to a smaller table. Lexi busily wandered around the club, making herself noticed and signaling her willingness and availability for private dances. Meanwhile, Chloe and I politely turned away all the other hopeful dancers who approached us. We had our sights set on the girl who lived in our building. Finally, when she was close enough to see us, I waved her over.
“Well, hello, hello…” she said, maneuvering around another patron to get to us, “and how are both of you?” But then she paused, stopping in her tracks. “Hey, do I know you two?” she asked with a much more serious tone of voice.
“Oh no, we don’t come into the club that often, do we?” I replied, jokingly. I didn’t want to outright lie to her, but I didn’t want to tell her we lived in the same building in case that scared her off.
Sexi Lexi was a pro. She paid Chloe some very nice compliments, and then asked permission from Chloe, to sit on my lap. We made small talk for a few minutes, ordered another round of drinks when the waitress checked in on us, and then Lexi made her move to close the sale.
“So, I assume you called me over here for a reason. Perhaps the three of us should venture into one of the VIP rooms, and you can see how my ink moves along with music?”
Lexi led the way, holding Chloe’s hand and tugging her along, ever so gently. Once back there, our eyes adjusting to the darkness, Lexi whispered in my ear in order to ask which one of us should get the primary attention. I motioned toward Chloe, as it was sexier for me to see the two girls together than get a personal dance myself.
At the onset of the next song, ‘Under the Bridge’ by the Red Hot Chili Peppers, Lexi moved into position straddling Chloe’s lap and began to dance for my wife. I was close enough to smell the intermingling of their perfumes. Lexi had all the moves nailed to perfection. A lovely mix of fluid and percussive dancing that went from smooth sinuous flowing one minute, to staccato the next. Her body was shapely and toned, and she would bring her nipples to within touching distance of Chloe’s face, only to pull back. All the while, Lexi stroked Chloe’s upper arms.
Chloe settled into position nicely with a lovely soft smile on her face. Occasionally, she glanced toward me, but generally she respected Lexi’s performance by giving the stripper her undivided attention. Lexi’s blonde hair splashed onto Chloe’s face, and at one point, she planted a series of soft butterfly kisses on my wife’s neck and shoulder. It was erotic, and enjoyable to watch. Most of the time, Chloe had her hands on Lexi’s waist and outer thighs.
We had agreed to three songs for a hundred bucks. As the third song was winding down, Lexi focused her attention on me.
“Three more songs with you in the driver’s seat, handsome?”
“No thanks, not tonight,” I answered, “but I have another idea, if you’re interested.” First, I had to confess to Lexi that we lived in the same condo building, which I did.
“I knew it!” she said before covering her face with her hands. She was slightly self-conscious about the whole thing, but I reassured her by reminding her that Chloe and I were here ourselves, and we are the ones paying! If anything, we had as much to be embarrassed about as Lexi did. Then I told her that every husband wished his wife could dance like a stripper; and would she be willing to teach Chloe a few of the dance moves we had just witnessed?
Chloe played along brilliantly and expressed her enthusiasm and desire.
As Lexi walked us back to our table, I outlined the details. I suggested one lesson per week for five weeks in our home or Lexi’s, whichever was more convenient. Each lesson could last an hour; and I offered Lexi $1,000 total for the five sessions. She thought about it for a moment and nodded her agreement in principle. Strippers dance for money, so this was really just an extension of that. The girls exchanged email addresses, with intentions to work out the timing details. I left a very generous tip for the VIP session, to sweeten the deal.
In the back of the taxi Chloe moved in close.
Chloe’s View:
I didn’t have the heart to tell Jack we were nowhere near completed decorating the condo, but he didn’t need to hear that. Most men don’t really understand the difference between furniture and furnishings. They think once the sofa and the coffee table is in place, the living room is all set. I was still working on those finishing touches. I wanted to put my unique stamp on our condo. I knew Jack loved art. I do too, so I decided to turn his attention to buying some eye candy for the walls.
Our rule for buying art is that we both have to love the piece. If either one of us has reservations, we don’t buy it. I must admit, we had similar taste in art. I thought that was a good sign, we were in synch; our marriage would be harmonious. Jack was the first to discover Anthony Hopkin’s paintings; and when I saw the intensity of the work, I was stopped in my tracks. His art was absolutely mesmerizing and the rich, deep colors would be dramatic against our neutral palate. One painting would take our space from pleasing to spectacular.
I remember the day we took delivery of the hand-woven wool rug we picked out at Macy’s. It was stunning, and looked even better in our condo than it did in the
store. It was a little out of our price range, but the workmanship was so incredible, and the pattern so amazing, we had to have it. After it arrived, I was running the vacuum when I felt Jack’s arms wrap around me from behind. His arms were tenderly feeling about my waist and pulling me back toward his chest. He removed my hand from the vacuum while shutting it off. He kissed me on that spot below my ear while I rested my upper torso on him, enjoying his strong arms holding me secure. Jack moved his hands down toward my jeans zipper, removing them and sliding them down my thighs. He scooped me up and placed me on my back looking up at him standing over me.
“Don’t move baby. I wanted to do this as soon as we picked this rug out,” he said.
I watched my husband remove his t-shirt first, throwing it aside. Then, off with his jeans and socks. He stood there just looking at me. Sexy as hell with tight black Calvin Klein briefs, the bulge telling me he wanted the pet on the new rug. Straddling me, he pulled my t-shirt up revealing the lower half of my breasts. Braless, my nipples pushed through the fabric. Jack teased my nipples, running his fingers back and forth over their tips. I arched my back off of the floor in search of needed friction. Fuck. He moved his body over mine as I instinctively spread my legs welcoming his growing cock against my vagina. Oh, rub me please. He bit my nipples through the fabric then kissed the underside of both breasts before moving his lips down to my waist and lower still. Yanking down my thong with his teeth, he sniffed me gingerly while his hand grasped it and threw it aside. Our rug was decorated with our clothes and almost naked bodies. Thrusting my hips up to Jack, he smiled. He knew what I wanted. What I needed. With his skilled tongue, he licked and suckled my clit. He spread my lips open with his thumbs, massaging me while his mouth devoured my pussy. I felt my juices literally trickling down. Just hearing him licking and sucking me sent me over the edge. Jack smirked at me when between orgasms, I reached for my discarded jeans, lifted my hips off the rug, so I could slide them underneath my sopping wet cunt. I don’t mind pussy juice on my designer jeans, but not on my brand new designer rug!
After my second orgasm, Jack motioned me on top of him. He moved my t-shirt up over my tits and pulled and twisted my nipples as I gently massaged his cock with my soft soaking pussy. It didn’t take long for him to orgasm while his hands squeezed my hips bringing me up and down his shaft, moving me at a pace meant for his pleasure. While I fucked my husband on our new rug, my knees received their first rug burn. It was so worth it.
Christening our apartment was not our only pleasure. Jack and I are big music fans, and in one week alone, we went to see Alicia Keys doing a solo concert mid-week, and then Pearl Jam on the weekend. It was my second time seeing the band, and a gang of friends were going, ensuring a great night. We had drinks beforehand, and some friends smoked some weed. Afterward, it’s no surprise that more drinks were in order. When someone suggested a strip club, I thought they were kidding at first. Everyone agreed, and before I knew it, we were hailing down cabs.
As strange as this might sound, I was a bit nervous going in there. What if I see someone I know from work? Would the place be filled with dirty old men drooling over the women? I had only been to a strip club on two other occasions, and both of those times, I was pleasantly surprised, but still I had some trepidation. I’m glad I didn’t smoke a joint earlier; I needed to be in the right frame of mind. Most comforting of all, I had Jack as my protector. I always felt secure with my husband by my side.
As we entered, I grabbed Jack’s hand. He looked down at me and squeezed my hand. The club was what I had expected, dark and loud. While it was busy, the bouncers moved a couple of tables together and managed to find a decent spot for our small gang to sit. The dancers advanced on our table in droves, hoping to lure us in a private dance. Jack and I just wanted to hang out with friends and enjoy the atmosphere.
To our complete and utter surprise, Jack and I recognized one of the strippers! She moved into our building a short time ago, and both of us had seen her in the lobby and elevators. She was edgy looking, but really sexy. I was always intrigued by these daring girls who covered almost all of their beautiful bodies with tattoos. Would they ever regret having so many?
While our neighbor was dancing up on the main stage, I suggested to Jack that maybe we should get her to dance for us. Always up for an antic, Jack was all over the idea. An hour later, as she sauntered around the club, he caught her attention and summoned her over. She recognized us in return, but luckily couldn’t place us. Jack played it brilliantly. He inferred that perhaps she knew us from the club.
Sexi Lexi, as her named turned out to be, sat on Jack’s lap – but showered me with attention and compliments. I bet she played every couple this way, from years of experience. With a couple, if you alienate the woman, you’re doomed. Win over the chick, and the guy will happily pay. She sat on Jack’s lap, but directed her attentions and sales pitch to me. Meanwhile, unbeknown to her, we were pre-sold from the moment we recognized her.
I wasn’t surprised when Jack directed Lexi to dance for me. She was good, really good. She seduced me with her eyes, as she took position between my legs. Before touching me, she started to run her hands all over her own body. Except, she didn’t touch the naughty bits early on; I was going to have to wait for that. Instead she teased me, dancing with confidence, and then she ran her fingertips along my neck, which made me shiver. Lexi had methodical sultry movements. Even the way she flicked her hair, splashing it across my face. She breathed heavily into my ear, even nibbling on my earlobe with her lips.
Then she removed her sexy Victoria Secret black-laced bra and a black sequin belt, leaving only her tiny thong. She grazed the very tips of her nipples against my cheek.
I found myself admiring her moves. Actually, I cannot tell a lie, I found myself admiring her perfect little nipples. I found myself thinking that I could learn a few things from her. She had moves that would work like a charm for my Dom husband. Could I learn some of those stripper moves? Hell, I already know how to twerk, and that was before the whole Miley craze. But Lexi had a plethora of techniques that could add to any repertoire.
Lexi walked us back to our table, as is customary of the dancers. Once there, Jack enquired about getting some one-on-one dance lessons for me. I could overhear them, and when Lexi glanced in my direction, I nodded enthusiastically to signal my endorsement of the idea.
“You are a mastermind,” I said to Jack, after Lexi left us. I gave him a hug.
“All in good fun,” he smiled back.
I’d work out the details later, but with Lexi living right in our building it should be easy enough. We took a cab ride home, and I snuggled up close to my hubby. Just the thought of Lexi coming to our condo made me wet with desire. I was so bothered with need; Jack glanced at me as I squirmed in my seat. Being discreet, he faced forward while his hand slowly caressed its way under my skirt and between my thighs. His hand was warm and firm as it traveled up toward my throbbing cunt. I wore no panties that night, Jack insisted. He dipped fingers into my dripping pussy hole and found my hardened clit, circled it lightly. Around and around. Mmmm.
It was the most pleasurable cab ride I had ever experienced.
Chapter 7. A Day in the Life
Jack’s View:
I’ve heard older people say that life is a series of compromises. You could travel more, and save less; or work more, and retire earlier; or eat in great restaurants, and own nothing. All I kept thinking was: I have a smokin’ hot wife who loves to fuck. We’re married, happy and very much in love. We own our condo in downtown San Francisco. We’re young, healthy, and our careers are off to a great start. ‘Enjoy the moment’ I told myself because the other thing that older people tell me is that the joy ride of life moves super fast. I was determined to appreciate the fun and craziness of it all.
Chloe and I were both high energy, and both of us keep busy schedules. We stayed in touch during the day, but within reason. I didn’t want us to become one of those couples that tex
ted each other 400 times a day. That would drive me nuts.
Today in particular, we barely communicated. I was stuck in meetings most of the day working on an important new business pitch. Chloe had a very rare day off, and she was running errands and catching up with friends.
Mid-morning I got a phone call from Benito. He can be a pain in the ass at times. When he calls, he wants immediate attention. Turns out his development company just got approval to build another condominium complex on the other side of town, and he called to set up briefing meetings with me. Usually, this meant that I would visit the site, and ultimately, handle all the branding/naming of the project including determination of the target market and marketing strategy. To me, the coolest thing to do was to name a new building after the area that it is in. So names like ‘New Vista’, or ‘Market Street Tower’, or ‘Fifteen Fifteen’ which was named after the address is acceptable. The worst thing to do is to name it something really pretentious like the ‘The Success Embassy.’ Who would want to live in a place with such a ridiculous name? Imagine someone asked which condo you’re in and you had to answer: ‘I live the Success Embassy.’ I would just point, and say ‘Over there.’
One good thing about Benito is that was that he tended to listen to most of my recommendations, and put a lot of faith in my opinion. The other good thing of course, was how well he compensated me. I still couldn’t believe how much he discounted the price of our condo. So, while he may have been a douche at times, at least he made it worth my while financially.