The other night I decided to stop at a local strip club to unwind. Little did I know, it would turn into one of the most fantastic nights of my life.
There were about twenty girls dancing and approximately thirty to forty guys in the club. I watched the ladies for a little while, to decide which one I would like to have dance for me. I settled on two different women. The first was a tall girl, around five-foot-ten, who had long, dark hair that fell to her mid-back and was just gorgeous. She had a tiny butt and extremely long legs. She was small in the chest, but I was okay with that. She was model-type beautiful. She told me her name was Angie. She took me to a corner of the club and pulled me forward on the seat, and then gave me one of the best dances I ever had. I had her dance for me twice, and then I took a break. I was afraid my cock would explode; she rubbed me and showed me her breasts and cunt while she danced. I was in heaven.
The woman across the room had a way of looking at herself in the mirror. I observed her watching herself, not because I thought she was pretty (although she was), but because I could tell that she thought she was pretty. In fact, she thought she was beautiful. As I’ve gotten older, I’ve noticed that a certain type of attractive woman will reuse the same gestures repeatedly, in the way a model will turn “her good side” to the camera. This redhead was like that, looking down at her drink in a sad little way, running her hand through her thick hair, and always, always returning to her gaze in the mirror.
I don’t know precisely what prompted me to send her a drink. I don’t usually pick up girls at clubs, and I don’t care for women who are so tied up in their own appearances. But I do like to tie girls up, and I could see what this one would look like: wrists over her head in the middle of my bed.
Last fall, my girlfriend Hannah announced that she was getting married. She was planning to have a riotous bachelorette party at a private club, including several male strippers. Aiden, my best friend and roommate, heard me giggling as I discussed the party with Hannah over the phone. Afterward, he told me that he’d seen lots of porn about those kinds of parties. He wanted to go so badly, but he knew it was a girls-only event. He thought about getting a job at the club as a waiter, but the staff for that event would be girls-only, too. For a month, he kept badgering me about the party. He really got on my nerves. Finally, I told him the only way he was ever going to get in was to become a girl. He actually started exploring the idea. He wanted to know if I thought he could pass as a woman and sneak in as a guest.
I looked him over and thought it just might work. Aiden is a slim guy, only five foot eight. His face is slender, and he has high cheekbones. His hair is jet-black and he wears it long, but not too long. As it was nearing Halloween at the time, I asked him if he wanted me to turn him into a woman for the holiday. He was really hesitant at first. I told him it was his choice, however I reminded him that girls tend to get pretty drunk and lose control at bachelorette parties, so he really should think about the benefits of cross-dressing. Finally, he agreed.
Camping had never been my favorite activity, but it definitely went up a notch on the pleasure meter with my recent trip to the woods. On that weekend, my best friend, his girl and I were enjoying the great outdoors—but the last night of our trip brought an unexpected twist.
“I need a favor,” Debbie said directly in my ear. I actually jumped. The last thing you expect to find crawling in your sleeping bag in the middle of the night is your friend’s girlfriend.
“What?” I was tired and not in the mood for campfire games. I thought she was going to ask me to walk her to the outhouse since it was so dark.
“I need you to…” She petered off and exhaled loudly.
“Need me to what, Debbie? It’s the middle of the night, and I can’t see my own hand in front of my face.”
We call it having a dinner guest. We’ll have a slow and lonely night at the diner, and when an unsuspecting guy who passes Kelli’s muster walks in, I give her the nod. The door gets locked, and as my wife pulls the big industrial blinds down, she tells him he’s our last customer of the night.
All the while, he’s eating and trying not to watch her. The way her pink uniform rides up when she reaches for the shade pull. Or the way her stocking tops peek out just so. She’s an old-fashioned girl, and she likes the thigh-high kinds that stay up on their own. We let him eat, and then she makes her move as I watch from the kitchen.
Our last guest was a big trucker type. He had a turkey club before he realized he was actually going to get from Kelli the filthy things he really wanted.
When my boyfriend told me that he wanted to try anal sex, I immediately got to work researching the topic. I read every book I could find, scoured advice columns from my favorite magazines, and bought a few instructional videos. I even convinced my boyfriend to watch the videos with me.
Jeff wasn’t surprised by my obsessive research. I’ve never done anything without learning all I can about it first, and sex is no different. Luckily, Jeff understands my fetish for research.
I started training myself for anal penetration a couple weeks before letting Jeff enter my backdoor. I spent days with butt plugs pushed deep inside my ass, and I gradually increased the size until I felt ready to take an actual cock. I wore the largest butt plug for nearly two full days, even keeping it in at work and while out to dinner with friends. I was determined to be as prepared as possible so that the first anal experience Jeff and I shared would be perfect.
“Damn!” I swore loudly in anger.
“What’s wrong, honey?” David asked.
“I broke my necklace.” I was standing in front of my dressing table, cupping my hands in front of my body as pearls spilled down my front. The tiny lustrous beads made click-clacking sounds as they pebbled the shiny surface of the dresser. I caught as many as I could, then picked up the few that had tumbled to the floor.
Once I’d corralled the escapee baubles, I stared at the pretty pearls and felt my eyes tear up. “We’ll have it fixed,” David promised me. He’d given me the choker for my twenty-ninth birthday. I nodded, knowing he was right. The necklace could be fixed, but I felt sad anyway. I sat on the edge of the bed in my little black dress, trying to regain my party spirit.
I’m a strong-willed woman in charge of a crew of salespeople. I bring home a six-figure paycheck and the headaches that go with it. I want to get this information straight before I explain my latest fantasy. All day long, I boss people around. Not out of meanness or any sadistic pleasure. My team reports to me, and I take the praise for jobs well done or suffer the brunt of the displeasure of my own bosses. I’m a tough chick—what you might call a hard-edged bitch—when I have to be, which is what being in charge takes sometimes.
That said, when I’m home, all I want is to release the reins. I want my man, Aaron, to take charge of me. To tell me what to do. To put me in my place. Thankfully, Aaron is more than up to that challenge.
On weekends, I like nothing more than to be Aaron’s love slave. I serve his every whim, his every sexual need, and I even try to predict what he is going to want before he can formulate the idea himself. Usually, while Aaron lounges in bed, I make his favorite breakfast, which I deliver on a tray. This is our regular Saturday routine, and it gives me as much pleasure as it gives him.
I do the window-dressing at the store where I work. I have to design large faux rooms, complete with wallpaper and trim. The point is to accent the wallpaper since that’s what we sell. In the winter, the windows are cold. In the summer, they’re blazing. But it’s always been fun to stop what I’m doing to see people watching me. Sometimes they wave or clap; sometimes they just watch. Sometimes it’s late enough that I have no audience, but I like to dream about being on display for someone special.
Last year, summer had just bled into fall, and I was redoing our window for the coming holidays. I looked up from dragging an oversized easy chair from the stockroom into the tiny space. Across the empty street, a man leaned in the narrow opening of an alleyway, smoking and watching me. By the way he held himself, it appeared that he thought I couldn’t see him—as if he assumed he was hidden from view in his carefully chosen shadows.
Something about the way he looked at me—his stance and the tilt of his head—made my skin tingle. There was a curious interest in his demeanor, and when Joshua popped his head in to see if I was ready to leave for the day, I jumped in surprise.
“Everyone’s gone but us, baby. You ready?”
Last summer, Dean and Diane worked out almost every day at the gym. And almost every day afterward they’d stop by my health food store to buy juice. It was nice of them to throw business my way, but it was also nice that they always seemed to be flirting with me.
Both of them. I didn’t mind. In fact, they often entered my dreams—dirty threeway fantasies that left me wet and breathless. But I never knew how to let them know how I truly felt about them. Fortunately, I never had to. They took care of things for me.
That July had brought us a whole line of violent storms, and most people had no power more often than they actually had it. One stifling day, after a bad storm, my store had air-conditioning but my house didn’t, so I went in early. I wasn’t even officially open yet when the bell over the door tinkled.