Message-ID: <20662eli$9903200424@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: From: tiramixu@my-dejanews.com Subject: {assm} NEW "The Dancer", by Tiramisu (MF, con, no more hints fill codes at the end Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d X-Authentication-Warning: backdraft.philabs.research.philips.com: smap set sender to using -f Path: qz!not-for-mail Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded X-Story-Submission: X-Original-Message-ID: <7ctfok$njc$1@nnrp1.dejanews.com> CONTENT WARNING: This story has an adult theme and may include graphic descriptions of sexual acts. If it is either illegal where you are, or you are not of legal age to view such material, please stop now. Copyright 1999. Tiramisu. All rights reserved. Please do not repost without written permission of the author. Comments are welcome. Please post to ASSD or email Tiramixu@Yahoo.com. MF, rom. No more clues. Full codes at the end. This story is entirely a work of fiction. I used full names for the characters to make them seem more real, but they are entirely fictitious, and not based on any real persons. If the characters bear a resemblance to any real persons, or if the names are similar to those of any real persons, this is entirely coincidental. The club named in this story is fictitious. The other places are real. Perhaps you will recognize them. "The Dancer" by Tiramisu Joe Hannon had never seen anyone like her. Business had taken Joe had been to New York and Chicago, to Atlanta and New Orleans. He'd been to the cabaret in Munich. He'd even been to the place Carol Doda had made famous years ago in San Francisco's North Beach and a few of the lap dancing spots in Florida. But he'd never seen anyone like Misty. He thought back to when he'd seen her at Sexe Spectacle on Sainte Catherine Street. He'd ended up buying an hour's worth of table dances. Misty had a beautiful face, with a girl-next-door freshness. Short dark brown hair. Brown eyes. Perfect body. Her on stage routine was exceptional. She started out wearing a business suit. Of course, there was no blouse under the jacket, allowing just a hint of the tops of her breasts to show. The skirt was just a bit too short, but it was almost appropriate for business. Almost. And when she began to dance, oh yes, she was special. It was the contrasts that got to him. The innocent face, the business suit, and then those moves. The skirt slid up, revealing that she wore nothing underneath. She began to unbutton the jacket, again giving the appearance that there was nothing underneath. He'd never look at a woman in a dark blue business suit the same way again. What really blew him away was the ring in her left nipple. Even as she danced naked at his table, writhing sensuously in front of him, small, perfect breasts inches from his face, she had a pretty innocence that made the nipple ring all the more erotic. It was the ultimate fantasy. The sweet girl you grew up with, or worked with, but, who underneath was total eroticism. Wild and kinky. Every man's fantasy. Well, his fantasy, anyway. As she danced, they talked. Gee you have a great body, he had told her. Thank you she had said, and he realized how stupid he must have sounded. She must hear that a hundred times every night. So he tried to make a joke of it, saying that just in case no one had told her that before, he thought she might like to know. She laughed her sweet innocent laugh. Then, he'd taken the conversation to another level. Asked her if she got turned on when she danced. No, she tried not to think about it. Asked her how the ring in her nipple felt. It hurt getting it pierced, but now it felt good, a constant stimulation. Asked her if it felt good to have her nipple licked with the ring in it. Teasing, inches from, his face, she had licked it, and said...hmmm...yessss. Then, she had licked the other one, and said...hmmm... that's good , too... but different. He asked if the ring was a symbol of submission. Maybe, she said. He asked if she was dominant, and kept men as sex slaves. Maybe, she said. He was sure she could if she wanted to. And her hour was up. She slipped the jacket on covering her nakedness, and she was gone. He remembered thinking that her smile as she left was more friendly than usual. Dancers didn't date customers, he knew. If they did they were probably prostitutes, and he wanted no part of that. Joe did okay after all. He was recently divorced, but still pretty well off financially, and at forty six, still looked good, still in great shape from squash, mountain biking, skiing. No, he didn't need it that way. But Misty was special. And he was intrigued. So it really surprised him when the next day, at the food court in the underground les Promenades de la Cathedrale, as he escaped from his meetings to do some shopping and grab a quick bite, as he sought a table with his tray of shrimp and rice from Tiki Ming, there she was, sitting alone. Mind if I sit here, he'd asked. Free country, she'd said, and smiled. He wasn't sure if she recognized him. Hi Misty, he'd said. Hello, she'd answered. And they'd talked It surprised him to see her alone in a food court at an underground mall. She was alone. She had been on the road for six weeks, and would be for six more weeks. More money that way. But, surprisingly, lonely. Lots of attention, but the wrong kind. Lonely. He was a traveler, too. Lonely, too She didn't go on till 10. How about dinner for two lonely travelers before the show? And so, they'd had dinner at Milos. The best Greek salad in North America. The best Chilean sea bass anywhere. They talked about life on the road. She was a graduate of Boston College. Economics. And she'd learned enough to know that she could pay back her student loans and save money for graduate school a lot faster by dancing. She'd been dancing for a year and a half. Why the nipple ring? That was a secret. She had insisted on paying. She made more than he did, she said, half joking. Dancers form Boston College did better than investment bankers from Harvard. Or maybe not. Anne-Marie Toscani, her credit card said. And so, later that night, he'd ended up in his room at the wonderfully romantic Hotel de la Montagne, naked in his bed, waiting for Anne Marie Toscani to emerge from the bathroom, naked with her nipple ring, to dance for him, drive him wild, make him her sex slave, or be his sex slave, or whatever else her wild desires might be. And Anne Marie, Misty, emerged from the bathroom, wrapped in a towel, and walked to the bed, dropped the towel on the floor and slid into bed next to him. "Joe, please hold me. I'm so lonely." And Joe held her, stroking her neck and her face and her back as they lay naked together. Again, they talked. No, she really wasn't going to go to graduate school, the money from dancing was just too good to give up. Yes, she did like dancing. At least some of the time. Most of the men were nice enough, but some made her feel really bad about what she was doing. As for traveling, well, she could probably stay somewhere permanently. Maybe New York or Orlando. Why did she travel, really? At first, it seemed like fun, but now it just seemed lonely. Joe held her and listened for a long time, just stroking her neck and kissing her cheek. Eventually, his kisses moved to her neck, then to her throat and finally her lips. When their lips touched, Joe felt his body respond. When their tongues touched, he felt his hardness grow, pressing against her. "Hmmm," she said as they kissed, and she began to respond, to move sensuously against him. His kisses moved from her lips to her throat to her breast as he moved on top of her. His tongue found her left nipple as he entered her, and moved slowly inside her. "Oh yesss," she cried. With long smooth strokes he made love to her, slid deep inside her then slowly withdrew until just the head was inside her, stretching her, then slowly moved deep inside again. He felt her heat build, felt the wet ripples of her passion squeeze him. Anne Marie moaned softly when she climaxed, and her passion ignited his. As he exploded quietly inside her, she moaned softly again. Incredible. Spent, they held each other. "Thank you, Joe," she said. Joe smiled at her. Anne Marie Toscani was a mystery. He wanted to know everything about this woman. "That was what I needed so much, Joe. For so long I've wanted to be loved gently, sweetly. That has been my fantasy as I've danced for strangers in one town after another, playing to their fantasies." She kissed him softly on the lips. "But next time... next time I will be your fantasy... dance for you, tease you... be anything you want me to be." She kissed him again. A hard, deep kiss. Probing, tasting, teasing. Promising... Everything. END Copyright 1999 Tiramisu MF, rom. Nothing more. But that’s the surprise. -----------== Posted via Deja News, The Discussion Network ==---------- http://www.dejanews.com/ Search, Read, Discuss, or Start Your Own -- +----------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `--------------+ | | | | Archive site +----------------------+--------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ | ----