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"Oh," she says, blushing, then scurries off quickly.
Nathan only smiles and pulls me close to him.
"She's nothing," he says again, crooking a finger under my chin and forcing me t
o look up at him. "It's only you."
About the Author
Sophie Stern lives in the Midwest, where she loves dreaming up the weirdest sexual situations she can. She resides with her husband of 10 years who is a constant source of encouragement - and inspiration.
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More Reading
Check out this sneak-peek of Stripping Jupiter, book 3 from the Roleplayers series!
I'm still reeling from the phone call.
When Anne informed - not asked, informed - that we were going to amateur night at a local strip club, I wasn't sure what to think.
I'm still not.
It's been almost twenty minutes since she rang, and I'm still gawking at the phone, still staring, still not sure whether to be turned on or horrified.
I feel like I should be terrified, honestly. It's not that I'm morally opposed to strip clubs. I'm not. In fact, I'm not morally opposed to much of anything. I fight back a smirk as I think of the past few weeks and how many crazy, poor, unusual, and exciting decisions I've made. I fucked one of Anne's friends and then I fucked Anne. Then Anne and I fucked Bruce together, enjoying our first threesome. And we did enjoy it. A lot.
But now I'm at work, stuck in an office job that I once thought held a world of opportunity for me, but that mostly just holds paperwork. I stare at my cluttered desk, realizing how much work I actually have to get done before I can leave tonight. If I want any chance of being able to hurry home long enough to take a shower, much less pick out a fuck-me-please outfit, I need to get going.
I pick up the first sheet of paper and sigh. It's a lengthy order form that's scribbled in handwriting I can barely discern. Somehow, I manage to make out the name and telephone number of the customer well enough to locate them in our computer database and figure out exactly what it is that they want to order.
As I'm working, my boss, Kevin, walks through the doors. Technically, I'm his assistant now, but I kind of classify myself as his work-whore. No, I'm not fucking him, though I've thought about it many times. He's not ugly, though he might be married. I'm not really sure. Lately I've been so distracted role playing with Anne and Bruce that I've barely had time to think about other people, let alone fuck them.
But I consider myself Kevin's work-whore because he literally piles anything and everything on my desk that he doesn't want to do or doesn't understand how to do. I don't blame him, honestly. If I held an upper management position, I'd probably do the same thing to my team of slaves. After all, isn't that what employees are for?
I finally figure out what the order is supposed to be and finish punching it in the computer. I file the order form away in one of my many filing cabinets and start working on the next sheet of paper. Now, though, my mind isn't in it. My mind is on amateur night.
What's it going to be like?
What is Anne going to be like?
I think about my friend's gorgeous body: her long hair, her perky nipples, her pussy that's always wet and ready for more. I catch myself daydreaming about earlier in the week when we managed to fuck each other silly on her bed. Now I'm the one that's wet and dripping.
Maybe I should excuse myself from this stack of kill-me-now paperwork. Maybe I should sneak into the bathroom, peel down my panties, and finger myself alone in the stall until I'm coming as hard as I was beneath Anne's tongue.
Maybe.
But I don't.
I wonder what Anne is going to wear tonight. She's always been dirtier than me, at least by my standards. She's always been very comfortable with her sexuality. I've been a little slower to grow into my sexual identity. I've been a little more tame, a little more reserved, a little more monogamous.
But now that I'm exploring, now that I'm finally opening up, I'm not sure how I lived so long that way.
I pick up the next sheet of paper, but it might as well be blank. All I'm seeing is Anne on stage, swaying her hips. The music is loud: the crowd even louder. Her shirt comes off quickly, almost instantly. The black bra she chose flashes beneath the lights on the stage and soon she's everyone's darling. Soon she's everyone's fantasy. Soon she's everyone's wish.
But the only one she's going home with is me.
I bite a finger, still holding the page. Is she going to want to dance with me? Will she pull me up on stage and make me her plaything? Will she be the one to strip me down, to bend me over, to slide a finger in my pussy as the whole room watches?
