An exhibitionist by nature and a performer by trade, she easily adapted to the new situation. Turning seductively towards the chanting crowd, she softened her eyes and focused her attention inward until the room became a blur of dim shapes and white noise – a technique she’d developed that allowed her to regard the audience as one manageable body.
Her partner did not adjust as well. As she shimmied up to him she saw that he was red faced and sweating and that his bashful cock had retreated to the hidey-hole of his blue jeans. She snaked her body around him and put her mouth up to his ear.
“Just look at me,” she said.
He shot his eyes at her and then back at the audience.
“What’s your name?”
“T-Tony,” he stammered.
“Tony. Don’t look at them. They don’t exist. It’s just you and me baby,” and she put her mouth over his, kissing him long and deep. Still rotating her pelvis, she took his hands and raised them over his head. Looking him straight in the eyes, she slowly lifted his shirt over his torso, head and arms. She let his shirt dangle momentarily – just long enough to build a little suspense – and then let it drop lightly to the floor.
Running her lacquered fingernails down his torso she nodded slightly and said, “Are you with me?” Getting no response, she put her mouth up to his chest and then gently bit his left nipple. This time she got a response. His cock peeked its head out from his jeans.
“That’s right, just feel my body,” she purred.
She slowly dropped to her knees, grabbed his jeans around the waist and gave them a quick jerk. This got a rise out of the audience and whistles and catcalls pierced her imaginary cocoon. She tucked his hardening cock back into his boxers and then gave them a good pull. Now he was totally exposed -- as naked, muscular and petrified as an ancient Greek sculpture.
Feeling sorry for him, she raked her nails lightly over his thigh to try to relax him. Then she gathered his cock and balls in her hand, carefully stuffed them into her mouth and sucked. With this, he brought both hands down on her head and, tentatively at first, thrust his hips forward. As his thrusting intensified, his cock grew and, within seconds, had outgrown her mouth. Shifting gears, she eased most of it out of her mouth and, holding the head between her lips, began stroking the shaft with her right hand. She reached up with her left hand and massaged, first one and then the other nipple.
The guitar player they’d upstaged -- and who had been watching the show from stage left -- started in with an an electrified wakka-chikka-wakka-chikka, 70’s porn movie riff and the crowd started chanting, “fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck…”
Satisfied that he was well on his way to a sustainable erection, she rose, performed a gratuitous bump-and-grind step and then, cupping her breasts in her hands, bent over so her pussy was in line with his cock.
Recognizing his cue, he grabbed her hips and pulled her onto him. The crowd was really worked up now and she could see the bar bouncers wrestling with a couple of agitated patrons off to the side. Oblivious, he rocked her back and forth as she scanned the room for the one jackass that would turn this into a free-for-all. She could feel his sweat dripping on her back and into the crack of her ass, feel his thumbs pressing into her hips. Suddenly he stopped rocking and, clutching her hips, lifted her so that her feet almost came off the ground.
Just then the tattooed manager hopped up on stage, grabbed the mic and said, “Give ‘em a hand, ladies and gentlemen, Fred and Wilma!”
She stood upright and his cock slid out of her. He staggered forward one step and then bent down, put his hands on his knees and lowered his head.
“Come on,” she said grabbing his hand, “let’s get out of here.”
Grabbing their clothes, she pulled him down the stage steps and, as they passed the manager, said, “That’ll be two hundred bucks.”
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