Suzi Keeps Her Clothes On

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She entertains a large group of men.
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Suzi checked her make-up one last time. She wanted it to be perfect. She was attractive enough that it didn't have to be perfect. It just had to be slutty. If it was slutty, the guys would be all over her like hounds on a bitch in heat, and she knew it. But maybe, if her make-up were perfect, their lust might have that little extra urgency that made her nipples and clit as stiff as little sticks. Besides, she was a little nervous. So she wanted her make-up to be perfect.

She carefully inspected her image in the mirror. Her full lips were flawlessly painted with a glossy hot pink lipstick, so much sluttier than the usual red that she was making herself moist just looking at it. She knew the effect it would have. Any guy with live meat between his legs would be unable to resist fantasizing about her pretty mouth wrapped around it.

Her enormous green eyes were accentuated with thick black eyeliner above and below, long false eye lashes and glittery blue and green eye shadow. Her eyebrows were thin and flawlessly drawn. Her thick, long auburn hair was streaked with highlights of brighter red, teased and swept up, with several strands left dangling in a way calculated to appear random, but actually meticulously planned. And it was decorated with a gaudy bow trailing ribbon, two bright barrettes and several tiny pieces of jewelry. She wore large silver dangly earrings with small, bright purple stones and a choker with three tight strands of pearl and a large heart-shaped stone matching those in her earrings. She wore five or six bangle bracelets on her left wrist, a wide, pale pink and blue striped bracelet on her right and a silver snake coiled around her upper left arm.

While Suzi was not a classic, fine-featured beauty, her strong, straight nose, high cheek bones and wide mouth gave her a sensual, exotic appearance which men loved. But it was her body which turned male heads as if they were swivel-mounted. She was of average height, lean without being skinny, and well-curved without being bulgy. She had long, shapely legs. Her breasts were not huge, but they were perfectly shaped, firm hemispheres, just the right size. And, while they were plump and soft and jiggled just a little when she walked, they never sagged, not even a little. She was fit and toned from top to bottom without appearing muscular. And she knew how to move and stand in all the ways that the boys find most provocative. Though she could never have been a high-fashion model, she was drop-dead gorgeous and cum-spurting seductive.

It was Short Skirt Amateur Contest Night at the local strip joint, Randy's Red Garter, and Suzi intended to win. The Red Garter's liquor licence prohibited Sunday dancing of any kind, including exotic dancing. So a local lingerie shop sponsored the Short Skirt Contest every Sunday. The winner got a $25 gift certificate. The rules were simple: no dancing, no taking your clothes off, no professional entertainers. Most of the contestants walked around and struck provocative poses. Some of the girls sang, if they had a good voice, told jokes or displayed some other talent. But the winner was based on the enthusiasm of the audience reaction and mostly the guys liked sexy.

Suzi had always had a tendency to show off, tease and dance a little at parties. She adored the thrill of being drooled over by a roomful of ten or twenty horny men, all fantasizing about fucking her brains out. In fact, she usually did wind up fucking a few of them later, in private. But she had never before put on any kind of formal performance, or even been in a strip club. She hadn't expected tonight to be much different from flirting with a bunch of boys at a party. In spite of the fact that there was no cover charge on Sunday, Short Skirt Night understandably did not generally draw much of a crowd. But this Sunday turned out to be different. There had been a rumor, false but wide-spread, that Penny Trayshun, the famous porn queen, would be there as a celebrity MC. (In fact, her prostitute sister, Solissa, had agreed to be there, but then cancelled because of a more pressing invitation to spend time as a guest of the county.) So there had to be close to 300 guys sitting at those tables out there, all expecting to be teased and titillated. Suzi, despite her surprise at the size of the crowd and a little bit of stage fright, knew she was going to enjoy satisfying that expectation.

What she didn't know was how much she was going to enjoy it and how satisfied they would be.

Suzi had such a talent for dressing flirtatiously that she sometimes thought she must have been born wearing tiny, spike-heeled platform sandals. Her outfit that night was obviously intended to instantly stiffen the prick of every man in sight. She wore a tight, bright pink, scoop-neck, cropped tank top with the word "SLUT" in large, block-print lavender letters across the front. But Suzi had torn off so much of the lower portion that only the top half of the letters remained, and you could see the bottoms of her dark areolae and most of her plump breasts peeking out from under the slightly ragged edge of the fabric. Her large, hard nipples made clearly-defined nubbins between what remained of the S and the L on one side and the U and the T on the other.

Her skirt was more than appropriate for the contest. It was pleated, with a lacy hem and featured pink hearts on a purple background in shades to match the top. At five inches, it was also, by far, the shortest skirt Suzi had ever worn. Even when she was standing still, you could see most of her ass cheeks in the back and the tip of her panty-clad love triangle in the front. But when she walked on her seemingly endless legs and the bright pink fuck-me pumps with five-inch stiletto heels, and the minuscule skirt began to swing and float, she put on a real show. It wasn't hard to see, through her sheer lavender panties, that her pubic hair had been shaven and that, just above her cunt, she had a large tattoo of a flaming heart. As a finishing tongue-in-cheek touch of "innocence", she wore little white, girlie-girl anklet socks with a wide, frilly ruffle.

The five girls who were competing that Sunday got to use the dancers' dressing room. After looking them over, the manager chose Suzi to go last, hoping that she could provide a big finish. The crowd, however, had been seriously disappointed by the false rumor and was not in a mood to accept anything less than gaudy, cock-stiffening eroticism. The first four girls were not well received. They were all extremely pretty, even sexy in a clinical way, but lacked the genuine lustiness necessary to grab a roomful of guys by their reproductive equipment and bring them to attention.

When Suzi's turn came, she still had no real idea of what she'd do when she got on stage. But, ever since she was a teen, she knew what she provoked in men and she enjoyed it and had gotten better at it over the years. She figured she'd come up with something.

The raised stage was smack in the middle of the large room. Leading to it from the dressing room was a runway of equal height. Suzi stood in the darkened dressing room and looked out over the crowd through the open doorway. As the club manager announced her name and the music started, so did the first hint of pleasurable aching between her legs. She took a deep breath and, stepping calmly out onto the runway and into the spotlight, she began her slow strut toward the stage, chin up and breasts thrust out, lanky arms swinging in time with her long deliberate strides, doing the slight cross-over step that expensive fashion models use to stroll down their Paris and New York runways.

The men nearest the dressing room reacted first, beginning with a couple of low whistles, then an appreciative "Wow!" and a loud "WHOA!". As the response grew warmer, so did her smoldering passion. Before she'd taken a half dozen steps, she was making eye contact and flirting with every male on her long sashay to the stage. Never breaking stride, it was a wink for the bald guy, a kiss blown to the young jock, a come-hither expression for the tipsy executive. Something for every guy she saw. Hard-ons sprouted like spring flowers as she passed, which of course only further fanned her own sexual fire. By the time she reached the center of the room, it was her own little empire. Every man in it was under her spell. They were standing, hooting and clapping in time to the music. In fact, she barely made it to the stage. As she walked the last few feet of the runway, the excited men on either side were beginning to reach for her, to grab her arms and legs and try to pull off her clothes. As much as their desire thrilled her, she decided it would be safer to stay away from the edges of the stage.

At the center of the stage was the strippers' chrome-plated pole. She grabbed it with one hand and posed provocatively, weight on one leg, free hand on the other hip, in a stance that screamed Hooker! A few more poses: leaning forward with hands cupped under her breasts; reaching down straight-legged to grab her ankles, turn and repeat for he other side of the room; sitting with legs spread, leaning back on one elbow while lifting her skirt with the other hand. The men cheered and whooped and shouted all kinds of suggestions, all very obscene. She had always known she had a certain power over men, but she was surprised and intoxicated by how easy and how natural it had been for her to take control of over hundreds of cranky, horny males and dazzle and bewitch them. At the same time, while she remained calm and controlled on the surface, her own sex-lust was building to a shimmering intensity.

Every member of the audience was standing, as were the members' members. She now crawled across the stage to the pole on all fours, grasped it with both hands and pulled herself up onto her feet, in a crouching stance, bent at the waist and the knees. She began to slowly raise and lower her ass, as if fucking an invisible lover sitting under her. Simultaneously, she started to lick the pole and mouth it between her lips as if it were some thick, shiny steel penis, while turning in a slow circle round it so that the whole room would get a good look at her. One-by-one, as she turned, she looked into the eyes of the men in the audience as if to say: "Give me a chance and I could do this for you, handsome." She imagined actually servicing a pair of heavily-hung studs on-stage and how the crowd would react to it and her clit stiffened to a throbbing, pulsing, almost painful rigidity.

As Suzi clung to the pole simulating various sex acts, she began to see the men in the crowd putting their hands in their pockets and surreptitiously massaging their crotches. Within a minute, most of the crowd was doing so. Some of those who weren't already showed dark, wet stains on the front of their pants. Then, during a pause in the music, she heard it, the low buzz of men unzipping their flies. Most people wouldn't have heard it, but it was Suzi's favorite sound, and one to which her ears were especially sensitive. She could hear the quietest zipper from 50 feet away. A fair number of the men had now exposed their erections to masturbate openly.

Seeing what excitement she had brought to the audience took her own arousal to a new level and, suddenly, Suzi's feverish eroticism burst through her self-control like swollen flood waters demolishing an overwhelmed dam. She spread her legs wide, moved her feet up to plant them firmly on either side of the pole and slowly leaned back. Through her wet, gauzy panties, the guys at the dozen tables closest to the stage could clearly see her jutting, twitching clit and her gaping, hungry love mouth with its swollen, puckered lips. She swung her hips forward to delicately brush her aching lust stub against the hard pole, imagining it to be a goliath's ten-foot long, two-foot thick boner. Even that slight contact sent a series of shivers through her inflamed body. She drew back, paused and waited, teasing herself for as long as she could stand it before slowly repeating the motion, biting her lip and rolling her eyes in pleasure.

Then she paused again, looked around at the rapt crowd and moaned quietly, but audibly: " Can't you see I need to be fucked? Who's going to fuck me? Don't any of you want to fuck me?" Two men immediately tried to climb on stage to get at her, but they were quickly intercepted and restrained by the security guard and the bouncer, who had seen what was coming and moved into position to shield her.

Then pressing her crotch gently against the pole and slowly turning around it, fixing one drooling male after another with her pleading stare, she begged quietly: "How about you? Will you fuck me? You there? Is you cock hard like a rock? Is it big? Can you please just stick it in? Pleeeeeeze? What about you at the second table back? Or you? Or the guy in the blue shirt?"

By now, almost everyone had left their tables and crowded in close to the stage. The bartenders, manager, sound man, other staff, even the waitresses, had ringed the stage to stop the increasing number of eager bucks who were attempting to respond to her desperate entreaty. The manager, afraid that the club might lose its license, loudly announced that he would have to stop the show and call the police if anyone else tried to mount the stage or the performer.

But still Suzi continued to slowly turn around the steel shaft, rubbing her clit and pleading: "Can't you see how bad I need it? Can't you see I'm going to go crazy if I don't cum right now? Don't you want me? Don' t you want to stick your prick into me? Did you ever fuck a girl's ass? Don't you want to?" she demanded, "Don't you? Or You?" The assemblage of stiff-pricked spectators responded with a growing chant of "Su-Zi, Su-Zi, Su-Zi."

When she finally saw that the men were enjoying the show far too much to risk it being stopped and that no one was going to break through the staff perimeter and rescue her from her ecstatic agony, she resigned herself to the alternative and closed her eyes and began to rhythmically rub the pole, harder and harder, faster and faster, up and down. Her love juices drooled down the shiny steel rod. She was not so frenzied, however, that she forgot to turn periodically so every man in the aroused mob could see exactly what she was doing.

Suzi settled into a fantasy in which the throng of customers around the stage forced their way through her protectors and swarmed over her, fucking all her holes with huge cocks, several in the same hole at the same time, for hours, until they were all completely drained, leaving her swimming in a slimy sea of sticky man-goo. Somewhere deep in her mind she knew that, in reality, a mob of 300 sex-crazed men would probably tear her to bits. But the irresistible fantasy, and the thought of how close she was coming to actually living it, thrilled her and transported her to an insanely erotic paradise she had never experienced before. She groaned and grunted, sobbed and sighed, whined and moaned with increasing levels of volume and intensity. While porn actresses frequently fake that kind of delirious rapture, no one in the audience doubted for a second that Suzi was for real. They fell silent and waited, mesmerized, for the climax of her performance.

As her orgasm rushed at her like an out-of-control steam locomotive, her trembling arms became too weak to grasp the pole and hold her weight. She fell to the floor and desperately thrust both hands into her drenched panties to grab at her rock-hard clitoris. Arching her back, with her weight on her feet and her shoulders, she bucked like a Brahma bull on loco weed and, as ecstacy spurted through her entire frame, she reached her screaming, shrieking thirty-second finale: "ANGH SHIT ANGH SHIT ANGH SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT AYYYYYY EEEAAAAAHHHH OOOOOOOOO OOOOOOO OOOOOOOHH OOOOOO OOOO OOOO EEEHHHH OOOOOO OOOOHHHHHHH OHMYGOD OHMYGOD OHMYGOD OHMYGOD OHGOD OHGOD OHGOD OHGOD OHGOD GOD GOD GOD GOD GOD GOD YA YA YA YA YA YA FFFFFFFFUUUU UUCCCCKKK MMMEEEE ...... Yeeeessssss"

As Suzi's last quiet hiss faded, the audience was so dumb-struck by the spectacle and intensity of her show that several long seconds of silence passed before one guy began to clap slowly. Others quickly joined in and a torrent of applause, hoots, hollers and whistles rolled through the Red Garter for a full minute before the "Su-Zi" chant began again.

Meanwhile, too depleted to stand to acknowledge the acclaim, Suzi managed to roll over onto her stomach, raise her butt in the air and wiggle it briefly in gratitude. The appreciative crowd laughed and cheered with renewed vigor. Eventually, the manager clambered up on stage and helped her to her feet. However, unknown to Suzi, when she raised her ass and pressed her chest against the stage floor, her tank top had been pushed up, completely exposing her marvelous breasts. The crowd howled their approval, prompting the manager to quickly cover her nipples and mutter, "Damn wardrobe malfunction."

Quieting the crowd, the manager then loudly proclaimed "For that stirring offering, Suzi wins the $25 gift certificate to Samanths' Sexy Slut Salon, located at 275 Main Street and open noon to midnight every day of the year except Christmas and Easter. 'Shop at Sam's and get fucked every time.' " As he handed her the coupon, he said quietly, "This too" and gave her a small business card. "From the man at Table 42", he added, nodding toward a table in the darkest corner of the room, near the club's rear exit. Suzi could make out little more than an uncertain number of dark, motionless shapes around the table.

The card read simply: "Randolph P. Makewater". And then, in neat hand-lettered print, "Join me for a drink when you have recovered."

Still weak-kneed, Suzi began to slowly make her way down the runway, back to the dressing room. Despite the fact that the only time she ever took off her high heels was when she slept, she wobbled and almost fell a couple of times between the stage and the dressing room. This time, though, when the men on either side reached up to grab her, it was to provide support, not to try to undress her.

After recuperating for a few minutes, Suzi decided to change her outfit a little: dry panties for one thing. She'd brought along an identical spare pair, knowing she'd need them. She also ditched the anklet socks for a pair of pink, elastic top fishnets which came about nine inches short of the hem of her skirt. And she pulled on a pair of long, pink silk opera-style gloves. Guy love having their cocks stroked with silk gloves. Then she let her hair down, pulled up her bangs and used the ribbon to tie them back on top of her head, creating a sort of fountain effect. And she added a small press-on "jewel" high on her left cheek. She slipped her small purse over her shoulder. It was the short-strapped kind favored by streetwalkers because it could be held tightly under the arm to make it difficult for purse snatchers.

The management had left a flower arrangement in the dressing room. She grabbed a 5-inch white hibiscus with a deep pink eye and placed it in her hair, behind her right ear. Whoever this Mr. Makewater was, she wanted to give him a little different look to keep him interested. As she looked herself over in the full-length mirror she thought You know you're a real slut when the length of your skirt, the height of your spike heels and the width of the flower in your hair are all pretty much the same........ Also, I guess, when it says so in block letters across your chest.

She stepped out of the dressing room and carefully descended the narrow stairs from the runway to customers' level. Table 42 was in the far corner of the room, so she would have to make her way between tables for most of the width of the club. She adopted the same slinky gait she had used on the runway.