by Ella Ford
“Wh-why did you buy me a drink?” I asked, managing to regain the faculty of speech.
Natasha’s eyes roamed lazily from my face, down my body, to my legs, crossed before me in a mirror of her pose. She leaned her head to one side and smiled. “You’re the only woman in the whole place wearing pantyhose,” she purred with a sultry look and my heart skipped a beat.
I glanced down at myself. I was wearing a tight, black mini-dress that was cut square over my chest, sleeveless and high on my thighs. On my legs, I was wearing sheer black pantyhose, an expensive perk of my affiliation with Endless Legs hosiery. On my feet I wore black, high-heeled pumps with a slightly raised platform sole.
I reached down and touched my knee then returned her smile.
“It’s nice to see a young girl like you making an effort,” she said, pointing her foot at me, halting her motion with her toes an inch from my calf. “It’s very rare these days, don’t you think?”
I nodded, feeling myself relax in the woman’s company, wondering distantly if we’d fuck later. “Yes. But recently it’s been getting better…” I replied knowingly.
“You mean with that commercial that’s been doing the rounds?” she said and I blinked in surprise, shocked that someone was aware of the advertising campaign I’d helped Endless Legs Hosiery create.
“Yes,” I said, feeling a slight blush creeping up my cheeks. “I made that,” I breathed with a smirk.
Natasha sat back and blinked. “Are you serious?”
“Yes, I work for the PR company that was commissioned to make it,” I said, taking a sip of my drink, faintly surprised by how much of my life I revealing to this strange, older woman. “It was my idea.”
“Oh my,” she replied, seeming flustered in a way that she wasn’t used to. Then she leaned forwards and touched my knee, her warm fingers wrapping around the soft nylon of my hosiery. “Can I let you in on a little secret?” she breathed with a wink.
I nodded.
“Your little masterpiece has brought me a great deal of pleasure,” she purred, “if you know what I mean?”
She sat back. I did know what she meant. The tiny, thirty second vignette between the two girls and their roaming, nylon-covered toes was dripping with sexual intent and implied intimacy. I was well aware that getting off on that simple scene was a guilty pleasure of numerous colleagues, both male and female. Hell, if I didn’t regularly meet up with the two actresses, Kat and Ashley, for steamy threesomes I would probably rub one out to it myself. Okay, who am I kidding, I had!
We fell into a comfortable silence, both staring at our respective drinks. I felt a warm glow of arousal at this chance encounter, felt myself relaxing slightly in Natasha’s company. I had a strange sense that I’d won some power over the older woman with my revelation of being involved in something that she’d found so enjoyable. I had no idea how wrong I was.
“Say, I have an idea,” Natasha finally said. I looked at her expectantly, sensing that the skewed power-dynamic was about to swing back in her favor. “Since you’ve been responsible for giving me so much pleasure,” she began, fluttering her eyelashes at me suggestively, “I’d like to return the favor.”
I wondered if she was going to ask me back to her hotel room. Instead, she looked around the room, taking in the dim vista of slowly gyrating girls and captivated clients. Then she turned back to me and fixed me with a wide-eyed stare.
“Pick one,” she said.
“I’m sorry,” I replied, not sure what she meant.
“Pick a girl, I’ll buy you a dance.”
I blinked. “That’s really not…” I began, attempting to be polite but inwardly thrilled by the idea of such a filthy gift.
She reached forward and touched my leg again, this time stroking her fingertips over my thigh, sending warm shivers up my spine.
“Nonsense,” she said sternly, dismissing my politeness with a wave. “The girls here are very good,” she purred, “and some of the booths are quite… private.” She paused and took a sip of her drink. “If you see what I mean?”
From between my legs, I felt my throbbing pussy demanding that I acquiesce to the offer. I’d come here to get laid after all, and now this mysterious older woman was actually paying for me to.
“Well, okay, if you insist,” I said setting my drink down on the bar. Natasha smiled back at me and clapped her hands together playfully.
“I knew you would,” she breathed. “Now, which girl do you want?”
I sighed and looked around the bar, feeling like a child in a toy store. Every flat surface was occupied by girls of various flavors dancing suggestively, gyrating hips moving in time with the slow, sleazy beat that sprang from hidden speakers. A butch dyke in a tight white t-shirt and denim shorts, close cropped black hair and countless tattoos was cavorting before a pair of business women, strutting about on high red sandals, thrusting herself at her gawping customers. They looked like real estate agents, prim and conservative with crisp business suits and sculpted hair. But their gaping expressions suggested their suburban lives were haunted by sensual fantasies and unfulfilled desires.
Across the bar, a redhead danced on a table, wearing nothing more than a bikini composed of thin leather straps. She was surrounded by group of cavorting college girls, some of who had paired off and were kissing enthusiastically, hands roaming over each other’s bodies; long, coltish legs entwined together; their fiery passions ignited by the sensual dance of the big breasted redhead.
It was like a scene from some biblical diorama, “The Fall of Babylon”. Everywhere I looked was temptation and arousal.
Then my eye fell on her and I knew that this was the one I wanted. Across the room, dancing on a low table surrounded by comfortable sofas, watched intermittently by a pair of women who were chatting over long, extravagant drinks. I wondered idly how the two could keep their eyes off her, how they could bare to look away from her radiant glory for a single second.
The dancer in question was tall and lithe, with modest breasts and defined, pink nipples. She had dark hair, held behind her head in a captivating mess with a pair of chopsticks, revealing a slender neck and perfect shoulders. She was completely naked, except for a garter belt and black stockings, sheer with a lace top, and towering stripper heels. As she gyrated and thrust her hips at the disinterested pair, I caught a glimpse of her pussy, neatly trimmed to a narrow strip of dark hair which tapered off to nothing above the thin slit of her labia. But it was her face that held my attention the most. Regal and sculpted, high cheekbones with pale skin and ruby red lips, dark, smouldering eyes, narrowed as her sensual dance continued.
“Her,” I said without a second thought, pointing over at the corner table.
Natasha smiled. There was something knowing and mysterious about the look, something that I couldn’t place, but which seemed faintly familiar. Did the older woman remind me of Jamie Danvers? She turned and lifted her hand, waving to catch the bartender’s attention.
“Kim, would you be a darling? My new friend and I would like a private dance with Britney,” she said. She already knew her name? How often did she come here? I wondered to myself. “We’ll be in the booth over there,” she added and pointed at an empty nook, a horseshoe enclosure of high-backed leather seats with no table.
Kim nodded. “Sure thing Mistress Tasha,” she said. “Can I get you anything else?” There was a halting tone to her voice that hadn’t been there when she’d spoken to me, a kind of reserved reverence. And had she called the older woman “Mistress Tasha”? I wondered distantly what that meant, but the thought disappeared as she took my elbow and gently nudged me to my feet.
“Two more of these,” said the older woman. “Could you bring them over?” she asked without bothering to ask if I actually wanted another one. I guessed it was free drinks all night for me.
As we stood Natasha offered me her arm. I took it without thinking, feeling strangely subservient to her, then we wandered across the room to the empty booth. As we w
alked, I felt the weight of scrutiny on me, countless pairs of eyes studying my body, gazing at my legs, wondering what was happening between myself and Natasha. I tried to retain my confidence, tried to concentrate of the warmth of the older woman’s body against mine or the prospect of what was to come, but the whole situation was washing away any sexual confidence I had. I felt like I had felt back in college, summoned to the office of Professor Cole, wearing my foot fetish like a badge of shame, not knowing that the kinky teacher felt much the same as I did.
I knew there was nothing to be ashamed of here, that I couldn’t be in a more welcoming environment of like-minded women than a lesbian strip bar, but still I felt cowed and meek beside the towering personality of Natasha - Mistress Tasha. There was something about her, I’d felt it the moment I set eyes on her. A presence. An enigmatic sense of authority and control. The way she’d zeroed in on me and seduced me without a note of resistance from me, the way her hypnotic words were both insistent and compelling. I felt a strange sense of destiny, that my road trip had inexorably led to this moment, and all moments beyond this one.
We reached the booth and the older woman motioned for me to sit down. I smiled sweetly and stepped around her, feeling her fingertips brush my bottom as I passed, a faint shiver running up and down my spine, triggering a sudden warmth in my pussy. I was hers. She knew it, I knew it.
I sat down on the leather seat, crossing my legs before me, trying to pull the hemline of my dress down my legs, suddenly painfully aware of how much of my thigh was showing, a long sweep of nylon covered flesh. So strange that modesty was now my greatest concern…
Natasha breezed past me with a waft of expensive perfume that inflamed my senses. She lowered herself down beside me, angling her body towards mine, touching her index finger to my knee and lightly stroking up towards my dress. “No need to be shy honey,” she purred in my ear, her warm breath causing gooseflesh on my neck. “I’m not going to hurt you,” she added and I sensed that she wasn’t entirely genuine.
I nodded and tried to relax, trying to focus on the slick warmth between my legs and ignore the disquieting sense of awe. I was used to being in control with girls I fucked, I was used to calling the shots. Even with Jamie Danvers, my vampish boss, I felt as though I was as much using her as she was using me. Here, with Natasha guiding and leading me, I felt trapped and vulnerable, following along at another’s behest, unsure where she would take me. But the most baffling part was that this idea thrilled me unlike anything I’d ever experienced. To surrender, to relinquish control, gifting your self to another, the very notion sent ripples of pleasure through my body.
“So, Becky,” began Natasha, sounding for all the world like a high-school teacher about to ask me a tricky calculus puzzle, “what is a sophisticated PR person like you doing out here in the desert?”
I turned to face her, my mouth inches from hers. “I needed to get away. To see the country. I’m going to Vegas.”
She sat back slightly and smiled. “What a thrilling coincidence. I’m from Vegas myself. You’ll have to come and visit me when you arrive,” she purred. “My husband is away on business so often,” she continued, tracing her fingers up the inside of my thigh to the hem of my dress. “I get so lonely.”
“Yes, of course,” I said, wondering if I actually would.
The thought evaporated in an instant as Natasha glanced to her left, gazing beyond me. Then she turned back to me and reached forward, planting a quick peck on my lips. She pulled back with a smirk. “Enjoy,” she breathed and sat back on the leather seat.
I blinked and turned to the entrance of the booth. Standing there, silhouetted by the bright lights behind her, was Britney, my own private dancer. I gasped and sat back, allowing my arms to fall to my sides in an unconscious invitation.
The stripper took two exaggerated steps forward on her towering heels, flashing Natasha a quick wink before turning briskly to face me. She reached down and touched her hand to my knees, gently forcing my legs apart. I capitulated without question, captivated by her height and the closeness of her body. Everytime she moved, I caught a waft of her aroma, a sensual mix of cheap perfume and sex. It was intoxicating, invigorating. I couldn’t take my eyes off her, and she returned my gaze with dark, guarded eyes as she started to move before me.
She began with a serpentine dance, a sultry rhythmic gyration in time with the low beat. Her hands roamed over her body, pushing her breasts together, sliding between her legs to touch her sex, gliding up her neck to her mouth where she lazily nibbled on her fingers. All the while maintaining a sinusoidal motion that transfixed my eye and lulled me into a hot trance. My pussy throbbed with desire, a pulsating beat that matched her movements one for one. Then she leaned forward and placed her hands on my thighs and began to lazily thrust her breasts towards me, her head leaning to the side as she studied my face for signs of a reaction. I stared at her, unable to look away, eyes flicking over her body, taking in the porcelain geography of her skin, her full breasts, the tantalizing signpost of her bush. My heart was beating like a jackhammer, pulsing in my chest, my ears, behind my eyes, fueling the growing fireball between my legs.
Then the girl pulled back from me just as I felt as though I could take no more. She returned to her undulating gyration before me and I gasped in frustration. I wanted to reach out, to grab her, to touch her breasts, to pull off those ridiculous stripper heels and bury my face in the softness of her feet.
Suddenly, as if reading my mind, she reached down and hooked her hand under my left knee then lifted my lower leg, wrapping her fingers around my calf. Then she stepped over my foot, straddling it between her thighs, holding my heel behind her and my knee before her. I wondered idly what she was going to do. She didn’t keep me waiting for much longer as she lifted my leg higher and bent her knees, positioning my shin bone on the soft flesh of her pussy.
She smiled knowingly at me as I gasped, then began to rhythmically gyrate her hips, sliding her sex along my shin, grinding herself against me. As my leg disappeared between her thighs, I caught sight of a glistening wetness on my pantyhose, the unmistakable trail of her desire. I glanced up at her face, relishing her expression, eyes squeezed tightly shut, ruby lips parted as she pleasured herself on my body. Her left hand lifted from my calf to her breasts, roughly kneading those fleshy orbs, pulling at her nipples with slender fingers. She appeared lost in her dance, caught up in the solitary pleasure of her intimate motions.
I glanced to the side, flicking my eyes at Natasha. The older woman was sitting transfixed beside me on the curve of the horseshoe, her stare locked on Britney and her hypnotic performance.
The stripper’s rhythm quickened until my leg became warm with the slick friction. Her breathing changed, shortening to fast sighs, punctuated with pleading moans. A flush rose from her breasts, covering her pale neck and cheeks, as she whipped herself up into a hot frenzy. I gazed on, watching the display with rapt fascination, captivated by this overt display of arousal. And then, without a second of warning, she lowered my foot and with a casual kick of her legs, repositioned herself so she faced away from me, my leg still held between hers. Her hips began to gyrate again and she slowly bent at the waist, lowered her head down towards my foot, exposing her pussy and ass to me. Each lazy gyration brought her closer to me as she inched backward. I gazed down at her pussy, transfixed by the glistening wetness of her lips, pink and inflamed with unfulfilled desire. I longed to reach forward and kiss her there, to plunge my tongue into that hot place.
Then, from beyond that dripping pink invitation, I felt my shoe sliding over my raised foot as Britney slowly teased it off. I gasped and felt a sudden rush of excitement and anticipation. Endless second passed as the stripper teased out this moment, hidden from view by her rotating ass and the tantalizing chasm of her pussy. Then I felt the warm envelope of her mouth wrap around my toes, felt her eager tongue licking at my dancing digits. Fueled by her inflamed desires, the sensual dancer began to devour my foot, ki
ssing at my arch, nibbling my toes, plucking the seam of my pantyhose between her teeth and stretching the thin material. She showered me with attention, wrapping her fingers around my foot, pushing her thumbs into the soft flesh of my soles.
I moaned and squirmed on the seat, writhing as waves of pleasure pulsed up from my lower leg, causing molten desire to spill out of my pussy and soak my pantyhose. My hands lifted without conscious action, reaching out to touch the firm flesh of her ass, fingertips tracing down her garters to the lace top of her stockings, relishing the contrasting border between skin and hosiery. All the while, I felt her frantic attention on my foot, kisses that reached higher up my leg, finding my ankle, my shin, tongue licking at the slick nylon, still damp with her pussy juice. The stripper lapped it all up, hungrily devouring every precious taste of me and her. She seemed possessed, driven by wild instincts, performing more than just a simple dance now.
Then with balletic grace, she turned again, facing me and lifting my leg from between hers, raising my foot up to her face. I felt myself slide down the leather seat, allowing myself to be moved by the dancer, providing her the access she needed. She set to work once more, showering hot kisses and tender flicks of her tongue on my nylon sole, sucking greedily on my toes.
As I watched her worship my foot, I slid my hand down to my pussy, parting my legs until my fingertips found the moist warmth there. Without conscious thought, I began to press down, finding my hot clitoris and applying a familiar pressure, moving my fingers in lazy circles. All the while, Britney continued to dance, hips rotating in time with the beat, body swaying with the sultry rhythm. Then she turned to me, eyes narrowed and lips parted, my stockinged foot resting against her cheek.