Write a steamy post about masturbation or share an excerpt so hot, it’ll make your readers want to masturbate.
As soon as I walk into the club, I feel his gaze on me. I resist the overwhelming urge to acknowledge him.
“Tiff’s here!” Jager, the bartender announces. The assemblage cheers.
I give him a friendly wave and as I pass by he hands me my first shot of whiskey. I tip it back and savor the burn all the way down. He smiles as he always does, as if impressed.
“Keep ‘em coming, Jag.”
“You bet, gorgeous.” I feel Jag’s eyes on my back as I continue on but he’s not the only one who watches me.
Other customers try to engage me but I don’t stop to talk instead I head straight to the back to change for the show. I keep my gaze trained ahead of me determined not to look his way. But when I pass a table of women, I hear the whispers. I ignore them as best I can but the boisterous forty-something woman with big hair and an even bigger mouth tries her best to get a rise out of me. I don’t bite, but I take some satisfaction knowing she’ll be livid later in the evening when I get a rise out of her middle-aged husband with a little bump and grind. And I’ll be sure to point it out.
It’s burlesque night. Always a busy one. The dressing room is already buzzing, the girls and the guys all primping for their numbers. I have three. An early one with the girls. My solo. And the finale.
“Hey Tiff, full house tonight eh?” The guy I have to dry hump in the finale comments and does a little thrusting action with his hips before giving me a wink and moving on. My bad, I don’t even know his name.
Just then Jager catches my attention by the door. He’s always hesitant to come in. It’s too cute, when he’s seen all of us in various states of undress night after night. Eager, I race over to him.
“Thank you, Jager. You’re a life saver.” I swallow shot number two. My tummy warms.
“Ya feelin’ it yet?” he grins.
“I should with this one. Have me one stage left for my first number?”
“You bet. Are you doing the rain number tonight?” His eyes glow with anticipation.
“Yes. You like that one don’t you, you naughty boy.” I reach up and grip his scruffy chin.
“Nobody takes over a room like you do, baby.”
“Thanks,” I say simply, but it isn’t the room I want to capture.
He smiles down at me, his dark eyes, dancing with the excitement of the night. It’s a funny high that permeates the air when a group of people attain arousal en masse. A tense uncomfortable contagious yet uncontrollable sometimes overwhelming feeling.
I turn back as Jag leaves. Most of the girls are raiding the costume rack. But I have my wardrobe all planned out.
Denise and Blue wave me into the tiny change room. Our costumes are all opposites of each other. White, red and black for Denise. Black, red and white for Blue and for me a deep red bra on top, a white underbust corset for my core and my bottoms are black with fun little frills covering my bum and decorated fringes for the front. The beaded tassels will sway and tease and catch the lights, driving all attention between our legs.
We fuss with each other’s hair and our time comes up quickly and we are announced. “Put your hands together for Denise, Tiff and Blue.” As promised a solitary shot sits on a stool. I grab it, swig it and hit the stage for our playful flirty number. I’m feeling tingly. Blue has a crop, Dee and I have colorful boas. We tease the crowd with wiggles and smiles. Blue gives us each a spank. I find myself in between the two beautiful ladies, each has an end of one boa in their hands, they see-saw it through my legs. It tickles. I look out at the crowd and make an exaggerated ‘oh’ with my mouth, my eyes wide. I even cover my lips with my hand. The audience chuckles, our number ends and we run off stage giggling.
“That’s always fun, girls. Have a good night,” Denise goes her way, as Blue and I duck back in to our little cubicle to change for our next acts. There’s another tumbler of amber liquid waiting for me, this time a double. “Thanks, Jag.” I hold it up in salute as if he were really here. “Cheers, handsome.”
After swilling it down, I quickly strip and begin to pull on my fish nets complete with satin black bows.
“Want some help with that corset?” Blue offers.
“Sure.” It’s an all-in-one lace creation with quick access snaps in the gusset. The bodice is exquisite, intricate. Made to attract attention and accentuate.
She helps me into the form fitting lingerie, buckling the front, and pulling the laces tight in the back. Blue takes a step back. She plumps my pale breasts just so.
“Perfection,” she grins, looking down at my overflowing décolletage.
“You wearing the jacket too?”
I nod. She holds it up for me and I contort into the long sleeved creation with the ruffled tails that just barely cover my bum.
I turn and scrutinize my reflection in the full length mirror before I pull on my ankle high boots.
I dress to torture him. Lots of black, his favorite; he likes it with my dark hair. Lots of lace, camouflaging and highlighting the best parts of me. A little peek-a-boo here, a little shading there.
“Almost right.” One final accessory; a crucifix on a long gothic looking chain. Like the cross tattoo he has on the inside of his forearm. He’ll know I chose it with him in mind.
“You’re gonna kill ‘em out there tonight, Tiff.” Blue pulls on a fluorescent pink tutu.
“Thanks, Blue. You too.” We hug and I have a few minutes to myself.
I inhale deeply and clear my mind. I've finally achieved that calming buzz. I feel good. At least human again.
Jager looks in and hands me my last shot of courage. “Fuck Tiff, you look amazing.” The way he says it and the way he looks at me, gives me just as much confidence as the booze.
I drink it down and follow him back out into the club to watch Blue on stage. She’s in the middle of her aerial act with the satin fabric ribbons, hanging upside down, her legs scissored.
Jag pulls me in and sways with me to the music. I inhale his safe warm scent.
“You good?” The concern in his voice touches me. He knows how nervous I get when I go on by myself.
“Yep, Jager and Jack always pull me through.” I smile up at him.
“That’s good.” As we turn slowly, I make the mistake of looking over his shoulder. And I see him. My chest aches as he watches me. His dark eyes say all the things I want to hear. His feelings are transparent, along with the regret. He stands stoic, silent, seemingly forever out of my reach.
Blue’s act ends and Jager reluctantly lets me go. I don’t bother going back stage to make my entrance, but take the stairs up. I stand on my mark towards the back of the dias and admire once again the genius of the set the prop hands have built for me. It looks like a common main street in every town, complete with streetlights and curbs, benches and trees.
I refocus on him. Our eyes lock. I strike my pose. The lights lower, it’s my time to shine. The sad haunting music starts. A soft rain begins to fall. This is my morose rendition of singing in the rain. It shields my tears.
All alone I begin to dance, just feel the music, let the words and the strains soak into my soul. This part is for me. Where I am happiest. I dance with my body and my heart, shutting off my mind. I find fluidity. Peace. The rest of the world disappears.
As the song goes on, I dance for them. My audience. I have their complete attention. I feed off their energy. For a time I feel loved. I have reason. I am alive.
Then I dance for him. Only him. Even with the light trained on me, partially blinding me, I know where he is. There's a magnetism. A connection. One he can’t deny. And neither can she. She stands at his side. His sentry. If looks could kill. But I block her out. I disengage from everyone but him.
I pirouette, then stretch dramatically reaching for him, then bend and cave at the waist, at his rejection.
I sing the haunting lyrics "I wanna taste her lips, yeah, ‘cause they taste like you." And I use my body to paint him a picture. Slow sinewy sensual yet graceful movement.
"I don’t get no sleep, I don’t get no peace
Thinkin’ about her under your bed sheets..."
His entire frame is tense. His broad shoulders bunched and tight. His jaw ticks. He’s like a coiled spring. But his eyes never stray from me. I have his total unadulterated focus. I have his heart. I take his very soul and make it my own.
I begin to perspire but not just from the lights. I am aroused by his stare. I run my hands over the soft brocade of my corset, his gaze follows, his hands curl into fists. My nipples harden, they ache, straining against the tight fabric. My hand continues to travel downward. I stroke a finger sensually from my pubic bone up to my belly button, up between my breasts. My skin glistens as the soft rain continues to saturate me. My audience is breathing hard, as one entity. My heart is pounding. But he directs me with his eyes, he wants more, I do his bidding.
It’s not part of the act, but I go with it. I go by feel. On stage what looks like a discarded blowing piece of newsprint sits on the makeshift curb in front of me. It's not paper at all but fabric. To the tempo of the music I lower myself down to a sitting position. I open my legs, the material at my crotch pulls tight, skin exposes and I look out into the audience. They are enthralled. It’s a heady feeling but there are only one set of eyes I want on me. The pair that will take me where I want to go. And I will take him with me. Whether he wants to go or not. He will follow me anywhere. At least right here. On stage. We are lovers. This is our place. Where no one can come between us.
I place my elbows on my knees, the cross on the chain swings low. I let my hands dangle carelessly close to my center and tease him for a moment. I let him wonder, will she or won’t she? I let my fingers flutter towards the lacy gusset. His tight fist unclenches and his fingers mimic mine. He wants to see me. His fingers itch to rip the snaps open. But I tease him, cupping my cunt through the fabric. I rub. It feels so good with him watching. I make several circular passes, heightening my own arousal and his. And then I do it, I rip open the snaps, they give and I expose my swollen pussy to him. His amazing lips part and he lurches forward but catches himself, to my disappointment. His blasted self-control!
I slide my fingers through my slit, I quiver, I’m so lubricated. I drag slowly to my clit where I toy with the overly sensitive bud. I tense. The burning intensity is almost too much. I tap gently and realize he is still copying my gestures. His fingertip taps in time with mine.
I round my throbbing clit, my finger is his finger. He licks his parched lips and I feel it like a physical touch. My belly undulates, my hips rock.
In my own wicked way I feel as though I am possessing her boyfriend while she watches. I am stealing him. I am having him. He is fucking me. I am fucking him. I plunge my fingers into my needy pussy and the crowd gasps right along with me as the final strains of the haunting song fades and the lights are doused.
Total darkness surrounds me; suspends gratification. I let my hand fall away. Like in life, there is no fulfillment. For at least thirty seconds no one moves. The only sound is collective heavy breathing, buffeting the acoustics, like the room is alive.
All of a sudden to my right, a blanket is slung around my shoulders then two strong masculine arms pick me up, one encircles my back the other scoops my legs. I snuggle into his strength as he moves stealthily. His familiar scent surrounds me, comforts me. The next sensation I feel is cool air on my face. It's like heaven, cooling my heated wet skin. I know we are outside.
“Why do you do this to yourself?” Jager whispers into my dripping hair. “He’s not worth it.”
I shrug in misery. “I don’t know why I do it, Jag. I guess because I can. Even though I can’t have him, I can still turn him on. For that few minutes, he’s all mine. We’re lost together. I have him snared in my trap. He can’t even look away. He wants me. He’s aroused by me. Painfully. I can see it in the set of his jaw. I see it in his eyes. And all the while, she’s right there. And there’s not a fucking thing she can do about it.” Perhaps I am a purely evil bitch. But I don't care. She has the prize and I have nothing.
“But he goes home with her,” he all but snaps.
I’m painfully aware. “But when he enters her tonight, he’ll be picturing me.” And she’ll know it too.
“I’m pretty fucking sure every person in there will be thinking of you when they go to bed tonight. Whoever they go to bed with.”
I smile. “Even you, Jaggie?”
“You know what you do to me,” he says, his voice is harsh but his grip stays gentle. “The same thing you do to him.”
“And you’ll go home to Kate tonight. Because like him, you’re a good man.”
“Bad timing, that’s all,” he murmurs.
I lay my head on his shoulder. “I love you, Jager.”
“That’s the whiskey talking. Your heart belongs to him.”
It belongs to no one.
Jager whistles for a taxi.
“I’ll miss the finale,” I whisper, but I know I’m too emotionally exhausted to continue. I gave him my all. I’m running on empty.
“They’ll get along without you, tonight. If they go on at all. You’re kind of a hard act to follow, baby.”
I hear the car drive up. As always, Jager deposits me into the cab. My savior, my conveyor of liquid courage. He kisses my forehead, his warm lips linger. “Sweet dreams, my tiny dancer.”
I go home alone. Another night of good clean fun. And no one got hurt... no one but me.
© H K Carlton
I hope you enjoyed this week's share. It kinda made me sad. Left me empty. Don't forget to hop on over to Kayla's for the master list of this week's Masturbation Monday participants.