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Michael Alexander Stories

Choose Your Own Destiny - The Club

 

4a – Meeting Megan

It doesn’t take long for the sultry brunette to appear at your table. Requests from the VIP Room are answered rather quickly by the young ladies working.  You gaze in appreciation at her dress.  Two black spaghetti straps hold up a swath of black material that seems to sparkle like stars in the night sky.  It stretches across her lean breasts and then narrows, leaving the sides of her body bare to your eyes.  The dress swells out at the hips, hiding her assets, the material trailing all the way down to her ankles.  Two slits reveal long athletic legs that look as if they could wrap themselves around you in a million ways.  Tall four inch black high heels, strapped delicately over her ankles, with open toes, attract your attention as well. Her feet are lithe and delicate.

“Hi.  I’m Megan.  I heard you wanted some company,” she says as she sits down next to you.  Your eyes feast upon her and you nod.

“Can I buy you a drink?” you ask.  She acquiesces and as the waitress appears she orders a rum and Coke.  A few minutes of small talk expire and you finally speak of the real issue.

“I saw you dance.  You are quite flexible.  You handled that pole like you were a gymnast,” you say, sipping your own drink.

She laughs, smiling at you.  “I am a gymnast.  And gymnasts handle most poles relatively well.”

You grin at the innuendo.  “I have no doubt.  What’s your favorite position?”  You take another sip of your drink.

She shrugs.  “I’ve got a lot.  The ballerina, the doorbell, the Viennese Oyster, the victory…” she trails off.  You nod.  Clearly she knows a lot more positions than you do. 

“I’m not as familiar with some of those.”

To your surprise she stands up, putting one hand solidly on the table.  Slowly, she lifts one leg upward.  It goes higher, past the table, then her waist and soon her ankle is literally above her head.  The slits in her dress have fallen to the sides of her thighs and her small black g-string is perfectly visible, outlining the delicate flower of her sex.

“This is the ballerina.”  She says softly.  The position is exquisite and suddenly the image of you standing next to her, cock buried inside her stretched and exposed body flashes through your mind.   But she isn’t done.  With controlled grace she lowers her leg down, twisting.  She leans over the table, so close you can detect the traces of perfume on her skin.  Her left arm supports her and she bends her leg so that she could have sucked on the tiny pointed heel of her own shoe had she wanted too.  She turns slightly, giving you a close up view of her g-string.

“That’s the doorbell,” she says, eyes glittering in amusement as you shift in your seat, suddenly uncomfortable.

“And what about the Viennese Oyster, and the Victory?” you ask.  She puts her leg down and swings around the table.  With grace she lifts one leg over your head and straddles you, sitting in your lap with her legs on either side of your body.  Your hard cock presses up through your trousers and pushes against her sex.  She leans down low, pressing her tiny but firm breasts against your chest as she whispers in your ear.

“Those I’d have to show you in private and are best understood when actually performed.”

You reach up and wrap your arms around her, pulling her close.  Her body is like sculpted marble, toned and perfect; soft skin overlaying an iron musculature.  But to your amazement, despite her athleticism, she is still extremely feminine.  With a grin you nod, “I can’t wait to be shown those positions,” you reply.

Megan flashes a smile, showing white even teeth and rises.  “Participation is mandatory.”  You chuckle as she holds out her hand and you take it, following her away from the table and toward the small private cubicles at the back of the VIP lounge.

The two of you pass several of the small rooms as she takes you toward the very back.  A few have their heavy curtains closed and you can hear the sounds of muffled cries and heavy breathing.  Megan ignores it all until she finds the cubicle she wants, pushing aside the heavy curtain and pulling you in.

As she closes the curtain you get a good look around a room.  Every cubicle is the same, so you are familiar with the setting.  A small twin bed covered in red sheets stands against one wall.  A nightstand holding a table light shaded in red is positioned between the bed and a large chintz arm chair, designed not only for comfort, but for lap dances occupies the opposite corner.  You’ve received a number of those lap dances at the Club, but tonight you aren’t just looking for a lap dance.  This room however contains one piece of furniture that is unusual.  In one corner rests a bar stool, looking slightly out of place.

Megan has closed the curtain and removes your jacket before pushing you toward the chair.  She hangs your coat on a small hook near the curtain. You sit down and Megan starts by holding her hands above her head, pirouetting for you.  To your surprise she begins to spread her legs, farther and farther, sinking down until she is doing the splits, legs outstretched to either side.  The material of her dress pools between her legs and she leans forward, showing off the marvelous expanse of her back.  The dress leaves a lot of it exposed as well and you take a moment to appreciate just how beautiful EVERY part of a woman can be.

Megan reaches out to your dress shoes and immediately begins to untie them, maintaining her difficult position.  She slips them off and then unrolls your socks.  It is a novel approach, but one you appreciate, since it alleviates the one really awkward moment of undressing in front of a woman.  She puts the shoes and socks aside with a smile and sits back up, still maintaining the splits.

You watch in amazement as she scissors her legs, twisting in a fluid movement that leaves her on all fours in front of you.  Megan puts her hands on your knees and lifts herself up, literally crawling up your body.  In moments she is kneeling on the armrests, her fingers sliding through your hair, caressing your neck and shoulders.  She straightens and then reaches down to take your hands and places them on the exposed skin of her waist.

“Touch me.”  She whispers and you obey, stroking her sides and back, fingers gliding over every bare inch of her skin.  As your hands move around her body she crosses her arms and slip both spaghetti straps of her shoulders.  With what almost seems like double jointed dexterity, she lifts one arm and slips the strap downward.  The other follows immediately.  Then with a smile she grabs hold of the long slit hem of her dress and begins to roll it up. 

In seconds her g-string is exposed again, grinding against your trouser covered cock.  The dress rises even farther, exposing her belly button, and you find a small piercing decorating the tiny cavity.  It only adds enchantment and then she peels the dress up farther, exposing her breasts to your eyes.

They are lean, but not small, and while they would easily fit in the palm of your hand, they would also be a mouthful.  Two tiny brown button nipples rest in the sea of her dusky tanned skin.  You move forward, taking your first taste.  The scent of jasmine and vanilla rise from her skin and you suckle her, your tongue running across the small nub with desire.

She moans softly but then pulls away.  For a moment, your eyes widen in alarm as she seems to fall backward.  The strong grip on your legs gives her away though as she bends, arching her back and placing her hands on the floor.  The position causes her hips to rise and now her g-string covered sex is presented to you.  You run your hands up her legs, caressing her thighs as your fingers find their way to her barely covered snatch.  You touch her through the cloth, running a soft finger up and down her slit, knowing that you are teasing her clit.  She lets out a soft whimper, her hips rocking slightly, and then her right leg moves from its still kneeling position and straightens, coming to rest with her ankle on your shoulder.  The other leg follows and she is now laying straight, her head and shoulders on the floor, angled up your legs. 

“Why don’t you take them off?”  She says, her eyes glistening with mischief.  For a second you are startled but then grin.  Your fingers go to the small string around her waist and quickly pull it downward, or more accurately, upward toward her ankles.  The small covering cloth follows it as you pull it from her body, bringing it upward toward your face.  You detect the scent of her sex; more jasmine, vanilla, and something more sensual, a musky scent that seems to rev your engine.  She bends one knee, allowing you to struggle trying to remove the g-string from around her blocky shoe.  Eventually you are successful and she replaces her leg only to bend the other knee.  You toss the g-string to the floor and begin running your hands up and down her legs all the way to her clit, teasing the small nubbin.

She maintains the position for another minute or two and then her legs spread wide, coming off your shoulders and folding over the arm rests.  She once again arches, bending her back and lifts her self up.  She reaches out to you and you take one hand, pulling her upright in your lap, her legs splayed open and dangling to sides of the chair.  She leans in, pressing her breasts to your face, rubbing them back and forth across your nose and mouth.  You wrap your arms around her, stroking her spine, running your fingers down her sides and toward the crack of her petite bottom. 

She grinds against you and the sensation makes your already hard cock jump inside your trousers.  She leans in and gives you a wet kiss, her hands clutching the top of the chair.  As your faces touch, her legs swing backward, allowing her to slide down your body.  Soon she is on her knees again, right between your legs and her fingers reach up and start to unbuckle your pants.  She has a deft touch and you feel the restraining pressures of your trousers loosening.  Her fingers find the waist band and you feel her pulling not only your pants, but your boxers down your legs.  Your cock springs upward, freed of its cotton bondage, bobbing in the subdued illumination.  With your shoes removed it is nothing for Megan to pull your clothing completely off.  She stands, moving like a dancer despite the black high heels that she is wearing.  You take another moment to admire her figure; thin, athletic, muscular, but still feminine, wearing nothing but the sexiest of high heeled open toed shoes.

She folds your trousers carefully and puts them under your coat which is still hanging on its hook.  She turns and gives you a look that resembles that of a hungry lioness stalking her prey.  One legs steps in front of the other, crossing at the ankles like a fashion model, making her hips sway seductively.  She approaches you and once more fall to her knees.  Her fingers slide up from your ankles, higher and higher and then you feel her fingers wrap around your cock as you groan and close your eyes.

She presses in; forcing your legs apart slightly and you jump as you feel the wet touch of her tongue upon the tip of your cock.  It swirls around delightfully as her hand slides down, pumping the primer of your needed combustion.  Her head dips down and you feel yourself sliding in even deeper, the tip of your shaft striking the back of her throat.  She bobs up and down and you groan in sheer delight, the sensations flooding through your loins like fire. 

With her lips still wrapped around your cock, she tests your own flexibility, moving first one leg, then the other up onto the arm rests.  You sit there, allowing her to position you, feeling the strain on your thighs as your tip backward slightly, and your pelvis moving forward.  She continues to swirl her tongue across and over and around your cock but then lets go, only to run her tongue down the side of your rod.  Then her mouth touches your balls and you gasp as she gently sucks one of your testes into her mouth, rolling it around.  You quiver, your mind trying to wrap its self around the sensations, startled, amazed, enthralled.  Her hand comes up to grasp your cock again, pumping slightly against the ridged flesh as she sucks and licks you.

Just as you feel you can no longer go on, she lets you go, moving back into the center of the room.  You groan in desire, wanting her to continue, but not wanting your time to end either.  The amount of money you are paying for this service is astronomical and having an orgasm in the first ten minutes is hardly worth your dollar.  You watch as she moves across the room and takes hold of the bar stool you saw earlier in the corner.  She moves it into the center of the room and gives you a little grin.

“Ready to try the Doorbell?”  She asks. 

You grin, nodding. 

“Stand up then.”  She replies.  With fluid grace she begins to bend over the stool, lifting her right leg upward.  Her knee curls and the graceful arch of her foot, still encased in the black high heel come close to her full and wet lips.  It’s an exact duplicate of the position she showed you at your table, except this time she is naked, exposed, and obviously wet.

You step up beside her, eyes locked upon the parting petals of her flower, gaping open and wmoist with desire.  You realize that she is almost the perfect height and notice she is bending slightly to make sure you have the perfect angle.  You move closer, the tip of your cock brushing lightly against the folds of her sex.  Slowly you push, entering her.  Her pussy is tight, but you suspect that has more to do with the position than with any inexperience on her part.  Her body contorted in such an unusual shape changes the contours of her well.  Unusual sensations caress your cock, and you groan in pleasure as you begin to thrust into her.  You grab hold of her body, using it as leverage to plunge your shaft into her pussy.  In moments you both find your rhythm, rocking against each other, supported by a simple stool.

You pound away, feeling your cock massaged in ways never before experienced.  After a few minutes Megan changes position, lifting her bent leg and straightening it.  You realize that she’s moved from the Doorbell position to the Ballerina position, all while being fucked silly.  Grasping her ankle, her foot a few inches above your head, you marvel as you detect another change in the soft path your cock is continually pressing through her loins.  The pressures and touches on your shaft change into something even more sensational.

After three or four minutes you realize that both the Doorbell position and the Ballerina are not about orgasm, but about torment.  Your cock feels as if its ready to burst, but the strange pressures, as pleasurable as they were, only stimulate you to further need.  You pull out, wanting to throw her down and take her, only to have her bend over the stool, her luscious bottom perfectly positioned.  She looks at you and nods.

The hell with positions, take her up the ass and let loose.  You’re desperate, you’re horny, and her ass looks perfect for fucking. (11a)

MMMMmmm…the idea of doing a little Standing Doggie is just too tempting.  (11b)

You’ve got your second wind now.  As much as you want to release the pent up tension you are curious about her other favorite positions.  You want to try the Viennese Oyster, and the Victory, whatever those are. (11c)