London Chapter - 1
An erotic story for the entertainment of any mature woman who would enjoy the fantasy of being its leading lady...
Chapter 1 of London comes with two identically named but completely different pieces of "mood music" which I hope you will play when you get to the appropriate action. I suggest you open both music videos in separate windows and pause them so that you can quickly switch them on when you reach the points I've marked in the story.
Je T'aime - Serge Gainsborough
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rp7mamCpdcc
Je T'aime - Lara Fabian
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Gm5S43YC2uo&list=AL94UKMTqg-9C5TdX30P-mgFHYrHDSb57D&index=1&feature=plcp
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"London"
We meet in FantasyLand...
Chapter 1 - The Carousel Club
I am not sure why we are in London because it's not my favorite city in the world, but it is a city which people from all over the world flock to for their adult fun, so why not us? Our adventure begins with us walking through Chinatown, a delightful tourist area of restaurants, cafes and food shops on the edge of Soho in London's West End.
Look at the display of shining, brown-skinned Peking Ducks hanging in that Chinese restaurant's front window, they look delicious don't they? Can you smell the spicy foods sizzling in the wok's in their kitchen? Of course you can, because the aroma filled warm air from their kitchen is being piped and blown out into the street down by your feet, a crafty stimulation of your senses which aims to get you inside. We won't be doing that right now, but it's a temptation which is hard to resist after passing forty or fifty restaurants that are all doing the same thing. There's no wonder that this colorful area attracts thousands of tourists to dine here every night of the week...before they enjoy the other delights for which Soho has become internationally famous.
Soho has changed beyond recognition from what it used to be when I first visited it. Today it is an area of classy restaurants, trendy bars, delicatessens selling specialty foods from around the world and pubs, where locals gather to recall the times when Soho was the center of everything good in their lives and tell tales about the "good old days" to anyone who is willing to listen.
The good old days...when £10 would get a man a filling dinner, a seat in a strip-club for an entertaining couple of hours, a couple of pints of bitter beer and an enthusiastic "quicky" from one of the hundreds of girls and many more mature women who came from all over England, and many from France, to rent a tiny room, hang their red-light and "work" the area.
The good old days...when Soho was one of the world's best know sex centers. Visitors thought it strange how that could have happened when England had the strictest laws to prevent prostitution, pornography and all forms of erotic entertainment, all of which were available in abundance on the streets of Soho. Today we know the reason...many high ranking London police officers have retired to live the "good life" in luxury villas in Spain in exchange for allowing these i*****l activities to flourish on "their patch."
The good old days...when "having a good time in Soho" meant finding the underground, i*****l strip-clubs and bars where, unlike today's totally naked shows, the strippers would actually do what strippers are supposed to - walk onto a tiny stage in multiple layers of clothes and tease the guys in the audience while slowly taking them off, sometimes clumsily, but occasionally with an elegant style and a smile on their faces. These were the "hot" places where the strippers took off the pasties that were stuck on their nipples and the "Star of the Show" would break the entertainment licensing law by dropping her panties to show her thickly bearded pussy. Was there really a pussy hiding in there somewhere? We always suspected there could be, but we never knew it for certain because we got only a 5 seconds flash of the naked girl before all the stage lights would be turned off and she would leave the stage in total darkness. Oh yes, these were the places for watching the really "hard stuff"...but we never expected to actually see a stripper's pussy in those days...and the girls never disappointed us.
The good old days...when all the Soho bookshops had a small stock of novels on display in the front of the shop and a huge stock of i*****l pornography hidden away in a locked back-room. The door to the back-room would be opened only after the tough looking male shop-assistant had given a potential customer a grilling, "You're not 'Old Bill' are you?" expecting even foreign visitors to know that 'Old Bill' is London slang for the Police. If the customer could convince the shop-assistant that he wasn't 'Old Bill', the next question would be, "What do you want?" and the reply had better be, "Dirty pictures!" or the door would never be opened and the customer would be shown out into the street.
The good old days...when all the pubs closed at 10.30 pm. To get a later drink, visitors either had to go back to their hotel bar or find an i*****l drinking club, and Soho had those in abundance. Attractive, sexily dressed girls, standing inside darkly lit doorways, would entice visitors down a barely lighted "stairway to heaven" which led the unwary down into a small cellar bar. Once down there, a very friendly hostess would fleece them of all their holiday money in less than a hour of extortionately high-priced drinking, coupled with hostess and show fees and the most expensive packets of peanuts they would ever encounter in their lives. After a few minutes of friendly chat and drinks with a charming hostess, a visitor would received a well practiced line, something like...
"Unfortunately, there's a small delay with the erotic show, but don't worry, it will be starting in about 10 minutes, let me get you another whisky and dry..." and while moving quickly away from the table, she would add, "and if you don't mind I'll get myself another glass of champagne."
By the end of their second drink, an experienced hostess had learned enough about the visitor to be able to make an accurate guess at how much money he would have in his pocket. Her choice was then to offer him more drinks, or get him to pay and leave as quickly and with as little trouble as possible. The payoff went something like...
"I'm very sorry the show is delayed, there's a problem with the lighting but someone's working on it and it shouldn't take much longer to fix. By the way, you have to pay for our first two drinks before we can order any more...here's your bill."
A few confrontational minutes later, she suddenly isn't quite as friendly and charming as she once was...
"Our price-list is posted on the stairs where you came in, so don't accuse us of cheating you. We will call the police if you don't pay-up immediately!"
Small groups of tourists, couples and specially single men walking through the red light area were a prime target for touts working for these bars. The "all knowing, super friendly touts" would offer to take visitors to a place where a "special erotic show" was taking place...and yes, can you believe it, it's in a cellar bar, not far away, down a darkly lit "stairway to heaven!"
BUT right now, as we walk into the heart of Soho, I am telling you about a club I used to go for a good time, without getting ripped off.
"I remember there was a place I used to go to near here, the Carousel Club, but that was back when striptease was an art form. The strippers were always smiling and having fun with the audience, there weren't any hostesses, and a drink didn't cost a day's wages."
We turn a corner into yet another of Soho's maze of short, narrow streets and I immediately recognise that this is where the club used to be, but isn't any longer.
"That's where it was, over there where that empty shop is!" I tell you, pointing towards a vacant shop which is for rent.
"I wish you could have seen it as it used to be!" I add, while turning to admire the delicious looking pastries and cakes in the window of an Italian coffee shop.
"Which empty shop?" you ask puzzled, "Do you mean over there where that Club is! Look...isn't that the Carousel Club?"
I turn back and I can't believe my eyes. There it is! The vacant shop has disappeared and I'm now seeing the old familiar neon signs blinking out their enticing message...
"The Carousel Club - Naked Girls - Soho's Only Extravaganza Of Sex".
Suddenly we have both gone back to the time I was telling you about. FantasyLand has once again worked its magic to grant me my wish...we're going to see some good old-fashioned striptease!
Taking your hand, I start to lead you over the road towards the Club, but our way is being blocked by a large, blond-haired woman who has broken away from a small group of similar women to confront us. She appears to be about 45 to 50 years old at a guess, but she could be younger since she looks like someone who has lived a hard life. As we get closer to her I pay her more attention. She is heavily made-up and her jet black, thick eye brows and long lashes contrast starkly with her peroxide blond hair, piled and pinned up high on top of her head. Her smiling lips are a wide smudge of bright red lipstick. Glancing further down, her tight fitting, low cut blouse can hardly contain her large floppy tits and her broad ass has somehow been squeezed into a skin-tight mini-skirt. Further down, beyond her black fish-net stockings, I see that she is doing a remarkably good job of keeping her balance while wearing flimsy, extra high-heeled, stiletto pointed shoes. So of course, as you can imagine, I find her very attractive!
Smiling broadly at us, she doesn't waste any time in offering her services...,
"Are you looking for a good time Dearies? I have a lovely warm flat nearby and I'll do you both for five pounds."
She doesn't wait for any response before turning her attention to you...
"I love being the filling in a sandwich, don't you Dearie?" then, as she thrusts her hand roughly between your legs, she continues, "C'mon darling, you'll love it. I'll lick and finger you while he shags me from behind! Tell him to give me five pounds and let's go enjoy ourselves!"
We are both stunned, but I quickly recover.
"Get your hands off her and FUCK OFF!" I shout, while roughly trying to push her away from you. Not very gentlemanly I know, but at least I've got my message across. She drops the false smile, reluctantly withdraws her hand from your crotch and takes a step back to let us pass...but not without a final and unusual comment.
"Didn't anyone ever teach you that it's wrong to use bad language when ladies are present. I'm a lady I am and I'm sure your friend is too, you ought to be ashamed of yourself, swearing like that. There was no need to push me either, you can't blame a lady for trying to earn a living!"
She has stunned me and I'm remembering how we used to speak not all that many years ago, before "fuck and fucking" became part of everyday conversation. I do feel ashamed and I'm all set to apologize to this street-prostitute who considers herself "a lady", but you prevent me doing that be squeezing my hand and telling me...
"Let's go, you did great!"
Walking towards the Club, you tell me,
"I didn't like that woman, but I do feel sorry for her if that is what she has to do to feed herself!"
"Yeah, and there are hundreds more like her doing that in London, but cheer-up, would you like to see how more talented women earn their living in Soho?" I reply.
"Of course, that's why you have brought me here isn't it?" you say with a smile.
"Not only!" I say hopefully, "I'm sure we will be doing much more than watch striptease tonight!"
"Definitely!" you promise, and with a gentle laugh you add, "As soon as my pussy starts purring!"
The entrance to the Carousel Club is exactly as I remember it, plushly decorated with red and gold flock wallpaper, and two golden Eros statues standing in little alcoves on either side of the ticket desk. The walls are covered with framed pictures of Star performers from the past and London newspaper cuttings, written no-doubt by well rewarded journalists, explaining why this is the only strip-club in Soho worth visiting. While you are admiring the ladies in the pictures and reading the cuttings, my attention isn't on what you are looking at, it is entirely and unwaveringly focussed on the vision of loveliness that is now before me.
The front reception and ticket desk is small, but the stunningly beautiful young woman sitting there isn't small in any department. My eyes are on her magnificent breasts and I am enjoying the teasing sight of her aureoles peeking out above her skimpy, low-cut blouse, while hoping that her nipples will pop-out at any moment. Unfortunately, they don't, and after a long lingering look, I feel obliged to drag my gaze away and look up into her welcoming blue eyes. She is smiling, no doubt amused by the look of total rapture I have on my face.
"Are you both Members?" she asks, quite businesslike.
"No, we're not!" you answer for me, seemingly fully aware that I'm fighting to regain control of my senses and that I am not yet capable of speaking coherently.
"Er, no!" I add a moment later, "perhaps you can help us with that?"
"Of course," she replies, "I'm sure I will be able to help you. First I have to tell you that you have to apply for membership 24 hours before you can enter the Club - it's the Law you know."
"Yes, I do remember that, but possibly you can offer a solution to that problem. I had the identical problem a couple of years ago when I was only in London for one day!"
"Of course Sir. Kindly fill in this card with your name and town, I don't need your full address. Your lady-friend doesn't need to be a Member, she's allowed in as your Guest. Now I suppose you want to go straight inside, without waiting 24 hours, is that right?"
"Yes, it is!" I confirm.
"OK, then please write yesterday's date on the card. I will enter you into the New Member's List together with those who applied to join yesterday. If you don't mind, my service charge for this will be £2 each, the same as the price of your all-day tickets!" she says sweetly.
I pay her and she continues, "If you would care for a drink, here is a copy of our price list. The bar is at the theater entrance, down those steps. If you don't drink, there is nothing else to pay, but if you enjoy a girl's performance, she will appreciate you giving her a small gift!"
I thank her and reluctantly drag myself away from her desk with just one long, last look back to see if her nipples have popped-out at last...they haven't. My attention now turns wholly to you and your smiling, amused face as I comment...
"I think you are going to enjoy this!"
"Oh really, I thought I was here purely for your enjoyment!" you reply teasingly.
"Not only, just wait until the show is under way and you'll see what I mean!" I tease in return.
Moments later, with a drink in our hands, we pass through a heavily curtained doorway and enter the small, darkly lit theater. The seating is arranged in six, cinema like rows with about 10 seats in each, with the first row almost touching the tiny stage. We sit on the back row, the only row that is completely empty. The front seats are all taken and as the rows go back, there are less and less men sitting on them. It will soon become obvious to you why that is.
We have been quietly sipping our drinks for a couple of minutes and our eyes have now grown used to the darkness, when you comment...
"It's very warm in here, isn't it!"
"Yes it is, let me help you off with your clothes!" I respond.
"No way, I'm not here to entertain these guys!" you reply with a little giggle.
"OK then, perhaps just your coat," I suggest.
You stand-up and slide quickly out of your coat, but your actions have not been missed by anyone in the audience!
"Lady, you have to wait until the music starts before you start stripping!" calls out one guy. Everyone in the audience turns to look at you and laughs. You smile and blush charmingly, encouraging another guy to add,
"Come to the front and get on the stage sweetheart, you will be the Star of the show!"
I call back, "C'mon lads, she's embarrassed that I've brought her in here, don't make it any worse!"
"Sorry mate, just having a bit of fun!" he answers. Everyone in the audience looks back to the stage and silence is restored.
I whisper to you...
"They are only having a good time, there's nothing to be worried about. Back in these times, they wouldn't ever expect you to strip-off and go round giving them all blow-jobs!"
Your reply is of course perfectly predictable...
"What a pity, I'd love to do that!"
Suddenly, the background music ramps-up from soft to loud and we are being treated to Je T'aime, the slow erotic song sung by Serge Gainsborough which has to be the most popular music that London's strippers have ever chosen to strip to, (YES...it's music time!)
Over the music, a man's deep voice tells us...
"Gentlemen, for your pleasure the Carousel Club is proud to bring you a vision of purity and loveliness. Please welcome the very graceful and ooohhh so incredibly erotic...
Francine!"
The audience begins clapping as bright lights illuminate the stage curtain. Moments later it slides quietly back to reveal a small stage, set with a back-cloth and furniture to look like part of the lounge of a wealthy family. A pretty, tall brunette, dressed as a French Maid, is waving her feather duster while moving slowly, seductively around the stage, flicking imaginary dust off the few pieces of furniture. She smiles attractively while looking along the rows of gentlemen in front of her, no doubt checking to see whether there is anyone there who is known to be a "big tipper". Instead her eyes focus on you and her smile broadens. Shielding her eyes from the bright lights she checks again to be sure she is seeing what she thinks she is seeing.
"Oh My God, there's a woman in the audience!" she calls out, and waves you a greeting. When you wave back to her, she blows you a most charming kiss and calls out,
"Welcome to the Carousel Club, I hope you have a good time!"
Gracefully and skillfully, Francine dances to the sensuous music, making sure that everyone in her audience gets time up-close to her so they are able to fully appreciate her beauty. Right now she is at the back of the stage, facing away from her audience and she is slowly bending over while pretending to be dusting the lower parts of the furniture. Actually she is giving us a long exotic look up her short skirt and showing us her stunning ass, barely covered by a skimpy pair of black lace panties, and her beautiful long, shapely legs and thighs, enhanced by black lace topped fish-net stockings, held up by a garter belt. We are following every sexy move she makes and I am also wishing that her panties will miraculously move to one side and give us a brief, exciting flash of her pussy. Who knows what erotic thoughts the other men in the audience are having about her but I can guess and I have no doubt that, like me, their cocks already starting to "come to attention".
Francine moves gracefully to the front of the stage, she stops in front of a bald-headed man and bends forward while looking down at him, gazing into his eyes. The loosely fitting white blouse of her maid costume falls forward, teasing us with the first glimpse of her large breasts. With a small shake of her body, her breasts "accidentally, on purpose" fall out, amid loud clapping from her audience. Silver pasties cover her nipples and long gold tassels hang from them. She swings her breasts from side to side above the bald man's head, the tassels swing and twirl...then, as she swings her breasts more vigorously, the tassels begin spinning like airplane propellers. The audience claps loudly and she smiles broadly, almost laughing, as she enjoys the feeling of erotic power that she holds over the excited men watching her.
She stops twirling her tassels, leans further over the bald-headed man and says,
"Excuse me Sir, but I think there is some dust on top of here!"
Carefully and meticulously she dusts the top of his bald head with her feather duster, amid laughter and applause. As compensation, she then kneels in front of the man and pulls his face forward to rest between her breasts, which she pushes together, wrapping them around him. As she releases him, she plants a kiss on his forehead, leaving a perfect bright red print of her beautifully shaped lips.
The guy sitting next to him immediately calls out, "My head needs dusting too!" and both Francine and everyone in her audience laugh loudly. I look at you and see that you are already entering into the spirit of this entertainment - its fun and you are relaxed and enjoying it!
The old bald-headed guy reaches up to Francine and pushes a 10 shilling note into the leg of her panties, quite a considerable tip at the time. I noticed that unlike anyone giving a tip to a stripper today, he quickly removes his hand, hardly touching her skin before she moves away from him. I keep silent about what I am thinking, 'If that was me today, the tip would be much bigger and I would be allowed to reach inside her panties and stroke her pussy - and she wouldn't move away quite so quickly!'
Moving now to the sofa, Francine gracefully unzips her maid's costume and slowly and tantalizingly, lets it slide from her body onto the floor. She sits on the sofa facing us, lays back comfortably, tantalizingly adjusts her panties to make sure that nothing is showing which shouldn't be, and begins stroking her long shapely legs. In my opinion they look exquisite in the black net stockings and garter belt that she is wearing, but her routine calls for their removal, so that is exactly what she does next. Spreading her legs and pointing them at the ceiling in a wide-open V, she reaches up and slides each stocking down over her smooth legs while erotically stroking the inside of her thighs, almost but not quite touching her pussy in the process. For a few long moments, with her legs still split and vertical, she once again lifts and adjusts her panties to "better" cover her pussy and ass-hole. It takes her several attempts to get the panties into the exact position she wants because they keep slipping between her pussy lips and into her ass crack, and that doesn't appear to suit her at all, but it does have her audience mesmerized. Only the guys sitting at the centre of the front row actually get a flash of her pussy as she manipulates her panties, but the applause from them is deafening. She lays back almost horizontally so that we can't see her face now, but the erotic sight of her wide spread legs and the panties "almost" covering her pussy and ass as she adjusts them, is more than compensating for that.
"She is lovely, isn't she?" you whisper to me.
"She certainly is!" I whisper back.
"Will she take her panties off?" you ask somewhat excitedly, as if you are hoping she will.
"You will have to wait and see!" I tease in reply.
After removing her stockings so very gracefully, Francine is now standing facing her audience dressed only in pasties and panties. As I admire her beautiful face and body, I am thinking that she is not only a lovely looking woman, she is perfectly at ease on stage while being both intensely erotic and at the same time charming and fun loving. Francine is the kind of woman that any man today would be proud to escort to a swinger's party, knowing that she is going to be the star of the show. She smiles again and lifts her hands, beckoning her audience to come forward to her...or is it something that she's wanting from her audience?
"OFF, OFF, OFF" calls the knowledgeable audience in response.
Not for the first time, Francine laughs and her pearly white toothy smile turns even broader than before.
"WHAT?" she calls, "I CAN'T HEAR YOU!"
"OFF! OFF! OFF!" the audience chant more loudly.
She reaches for her pasties, "YOU WANT ME TO TAKE THESE OFF?" she calls out.
"OFF! OFF! OFF!" her audience continues to chant.
A twist of her wrists and the pasties fall away to reveal the prettiest pair of pink nipples anyone could wish to see. Her audience applauds wildly.
"They're not big, but I would love to get my lips around them!" I whisper into your ear.
"That's funny, I was just thinking, I'd love to see you suck and squeeze her nipples to see if you could make them hard!" you reply naughtily
As if reading your thoughts Francine takes a grip on both her nipples and pulls and twists them. They respond perfectly, standing proud after just a few moments of intense stimulation. The audience are clapping continuously now, they adore this girl.
"Oh yes!" you confirm, "she has the kind of nipples I would love to play with. She is absolutely gorgeous!" What?...shall I ask you to repeat that?...no, I'd better just store it in my memory bank for later.
I notice that you have a hand in your lap and you seems to be pressing it down onto your pussy. I slip my hand under yours, so that it is my hand which is now pressing on your pussy. As my fingers stroke you through your clothes, you tell me, almost innocently and in words totally in keeping with the period we are now in...
"Thank you for your very kind assistance Sir!"
Francine is now coming to the peak of her performance, she stands and moves to the front and centre of the stage. Turning her back to the audience she slowly and teasingly takes a grip on the top of her panties and draws them down her thighs, which she is keeping closely pressed together. As she slides the panties further down her legs, she gradually bends forward. Skillfully and teasingly she avoids parting her legs enough for us to get even the slightest glimpse of what she is hiding from us. However, as the panties reach the floor she looks back over her shoulder, flashes another brilliant smile and slowly parts her legs to show us her pussy and ass-hole. There is absolute silence as she holds the pose for a few thrilling moments, treating the guys to a long look at what they have all paid to see!
"Why aren't they clapping?" you ask.
"They can't clap with only one hand!" I explain, "Haven't you noticed that they all have their coats d****d over their legs? That's because they're all furiously wanking their cocks under their coats! They started when she started adjusting her panties, then went into high gear when they realized she was going to take her panties off. They won't stop wanking until she has left the stage and then they will clap!"
I look at you carefully, your cheeks are flushed, perhaps it is too hot in here, or perhaps Francine's show and the knowledge that all the guys around you are secretly jerking their cocks, has really got to you. Perhaps the pressure of my hand on your pussy has started it purring already!
With a wave, a blown kiss directed at you, and a call of "Thank You" to her audience, the bright stage lights are turned off and Francine walks from the stage in perfect darkness, as the curtains close. The applause reaches a crescendo...the music fades...the loud applause dies...and the dim house lights are turned back on again.
"WOW!" you exclaim, "I never expected that. I loved watching that girl. Will she be on again?"
"Later possibly, some of the girls perform several times during the night, but the Stars normally perform only once. I'm not sure that Francine will perform again, and if she does it will be after a couple of hours!" I answer...then I go on to explain why. "She will now be running to another Club to perform. The girls usually perform at several Clubs on the same night, rushing round to fit in all their performances and never getting any rest between. It's amazing that Francine is so cheerful and that she enjoys interacting with her audience when she is doing the same thing over and over, every night."
"That's really hard work, I hope she is making lots of money!" you comment.
"I doubt it," I reply, " I guess she can barely live on what she earns from the Club shows but she's not going to get rich unless she's earning extra money another way. Some of these girls do private shows and they can earn big money if they are willing to get together with another girl to do lesbian shows and have sex with their clients."
"So nothing has changed over all these years. that's still happening today, I mean, in our time!" you comment.
"Oh really...what can you tell me about that?" I quiz, anxious to learn where you got that information from.
"Sorry, I have to pee!" is your reasonable excuse for not revealing the source of your knowledge on that subject.
Off you go in the direction of the Ladies' toilet, followed by the eyes of about forty guys who are following your every movement. Only one guy, me, is looking at those forty guys to be sure that no-one follows you to where you are going. No-one does, evidently I didn't need to worry, these were the times when gentlemen were basically decent perverts.
As you return to your seat, a guy in the center of the front row gets up and puts on his coat to leave the theater. The guy seated immediately behind him also gets up, and the one behind him, and the one behind him and so on. As the first guy leaves his seat, all the other guys climb over the seat-back in front of them to move one row closer to the front.
"They have to stop wanking to get a better seat!" you comment laughingly.
"Yeah, but did you notice that no-one could make a move until the first guy had put his cock away and zipped-up." I reply
"Well what happens if they cum!" you ask.
"They do cum! They put on a condom in the toilet before going to their seat and they take it off when they leave!" I inform you, "Watch where he goes!"
Surely enough, the guy from the front row makes a bee-line straight to the Gent's toilet.
"So what do you know about today's strippers giving private shows?" I repeat hopefully.
"I must have seen it in a magazine!" is your unacceptable answer.
Before I can press you, the music ramps-up again and we are treated to another Je T'aime, one I haven't heard before, but instantly like (Yes, it's music time again...the lovely Lara Fabian, who could definitely have been a Star stripper...if only she didn't have such a fantastic voice!)
The anonymous announcer is back,
"Gentleman AND LADY," he says, drawing a quick burst of applause meant only for you, "the Carousel Club is proud to present the Star of our show. Please give a warm welcome to an International Striptease Star making her first appearance on a London stage. She is an incredibly beautiful and erotically gifted lady...and her name is Angelina...
The curtain opens and we see that there is only one prop on stage, a large white, wing-backed cane chair with soft cushions. Seated on it is a vision of stunning beauty. Angelina is a young, slender Eurasian with long black hair which is gathered over one shoulder and falls down her front. It is the longest hair I have ever seen worn by a young woman and it shines like pure silk, set alight by the brightness of a single spot-light centered on the chair and Angelina, aside from which, the entire stage is pitch-black.
Angelina is wearing a long white sheath dress, split up one side to thigh length, and with a plunging neckline which reaches almost to her waist. With bare feet, she is dressed so simply and yet she has immediately attracted the rapt attention of her audience not only because of that simplicity but also because her beautiful face is a pure joy to behold. There is no doubt that she could grace the front page of any fashion magazine in the world if that was what she wanted...which only makes me wonder why she prefers to be a stripper in a small club in London? Can anyone understand the mentality which drives many of the world's most beautiful women to do the most unexpected things? I know I certainly can't!
You lean towards me and whisper, "She is absolutely beautiful isn't she!"...expressing your admiration in words which no-one could possibly argue with.
"Oh yes, she really is, and it's also obvious that she isn't a normal Soho club stripper. This isn't going to be a funny strip show like the last one, I have a feeling that this is going to be something completely different!" I reply.
With the powerful voice of Laura Fabian flowing over her, Angelina rises slowly from the chair and stands facing her audience, her legs slightly apart, one leg dramatically peeking through the split in her skirt. Her head begins to move from side to side then, as she slowly raises her arms, her hands begin twisting and turning gracefully, in perfect time to the music, as she sways her slender body. Her eyes are closed as she gives herself up to the rhythms of the haunting music and enhances them with her own interpretations of sensuous Asian dance. Her hand and arm movements are fascinatingly exotic as they rise and fall from above her head down to her waist, while the fingers of each hand point, twist and turn in graceful unison...presenting a vision of beauty which wouldn't be out of place in any Thai King's palace.
As the powerful mood of the music builds and takes hold of her emotions, her movements become stronger. Her swaying body and hand movements become more exaggerated, less graceful, more sexual as they begin to stroke up and down her body. A perfectly formed leg now slips completely into view through the split in her skirt. She caresses her bare thigh, moving her hand slowly up and down it. A beautifully tanned, naked breast slides into view from behind her plunging neckline as she twists and turns her body. Her graceful Thai dance has become a quickly forgotten memory as her now writhing body gives us quick flashes of her intensely erotic body. With the music gripping her emotions, her dance explodes into a free ballet style. Moving vigorously across the stage, perfectly interpreting the mounting intensity of the music, her dress flows behind her body. There is no modesty now as her naked breasts fall from the dress and her powerful legs propel her body into long, high leaps which leave her dress floating in space. So skillfully, she has turned Asian dance into ballet and then turned ballet into a powerful and intensely beautiful erotic experience. As the song comes to its end, the spectacle of this graceful dancing beauty also reaches its peak, she makes one last leap and lands with her feet apart, facing the audience. Slowly and smoothly her dress slides from her shoulders, over her shapely breasts, and down her hips, finally landing at her feet on the floor. For a few seconds she stands completely naked, gasping for breath in the spotlight...a vision of total erotic delight. The spotlight slowly dims but before it fades completely, Angelina flicks her head and skillfully casts her long hair over her shoulder to run down between her breasts and cover her pussy.
At this moment the spot-light switches off, plunging the stage into total darkness. Thunderous applause breaks out, however, it stops after a few moments when the same music begins again. The spot-light once again hits the center of the stage to reveal Angelina once again sitting in the chair. This time she is completely naked, with her legs wide open, but with her hair still running down between her breasts, covering her pussy.
You decide that it is the perfect time to enlighten me on exactly why you went to the ladies toilet. You take my hand and slip it under your coat, which is now laying over your lap, and guide it down to your... OMG...naked, wet pussy.
"It is purring with pleasure and needs a good stroking!" you whisper to me.
As I slip a finger between your pussy lips, it is greeted with a wetness that I could never have expected. You explain, "Francine did that to me! Perhaps you and this girl will do a lot more!".
I begin a steady stroking, moving my finger in a slow circular motion around your clit, exactly as you like it. It hardens immediately and I split two fingers, gripping and pinching your pussy lips between them. I am sliding my fingers up and down on each side of your clit now, reaching down to stroke the entrance to your well lubricated cunt, when another man enters the darkened theater and comes to sit on the other side of you. Worried that he may realize what I am doing, I stop touching you. I slide my hand from under your coat and concentrate my attention on the erotic spectacle on the stage.
Angelina is swaying her body, but now one of her hands is holding her hair in place below her pussy, every time she moves her head and body, her thick hair brushes excitingly against her pussy. We know it, but we can't actually see it, we see only her hair stroking between her legs as she makes her graceful swaying movements in time with the music. It is at this point that we hear her voice for the first time, she lets out a soft moan signalling the mounting effect of her unique hair masturbation. With her head turned to one side and her hair pulled taut against her pussy and one breast, her free hand moves to grasp, pull and twist the nipple that we can see. She allows us to watch her doing that for a few moments before a flick of her head sends her hair moving to cover that breast and her hand moves to her other nipple. Again and again she squeezes, pulls and twists her nipples and as she does that, she is pulling her hair tighter and tighter between her legs...against her swollen pussy-lips. Her moans are becoming louder, and as the music intensifies towards its peak her nipples and pussy are being stimulated faster and faster by her head and hair movements.
With this happening on stage and the man on the other side of you safely engrossed in what Angelina is doing to herself, I figure it is safe to resume my pussy stroking. I slip my hand under your coat and onto.... OMG, another hand...with its fingers already pumping in and out of your cunt. I look at you and see that your cheeks are flushed and that your glistening eyes are riveted on the stage spectacle. I decide that this is no time to raise any objections, it's time for me give the other man a helping hand. Fortunately, he has left me just enough space to be able to rub your clit and to leave him finger fucking you hard and deep. It is a perfect compromise, and your excited face is now confirming that without you needing to say anything.
Angelina has now moved her free hand from her breasts and down to her pussy. She moves her hair just far enough for us to see that her hand is indeed on her pussy and that, with one finger deep inside herself, she is masturbating herself with some vigor. After a few moments, her hair magically moves again to cover that scene...and confirm what a supreme strip-tease artist and consummate prick-teaser this girl is!
Luckily Angelina's moans are now filling the theater, because this is the point where you also start to let everyone within earshot know how excited you are. You move your head to rest it on my shoulder and throwing all caution to the wind, throw back your coat to give me and the stranger next to you enough freedom and space to bring you to a much needed orgasm. My fingers are flying over your clit and the other man's fingers are twisting, turning and pumping in and out of your now pulsating cunt.
The music is nearing its peak, Angelina is driving herself to orgasm on stage and you are on the edge of your seat, taking the finger fucking of a life-time. I'm thinking that you must surely be on the very edge of an orgasm and as the last strains of the music fade, Angelina cries out to signal her fake orgasm, leaving me wondering...is this what you have been waiting for? You answer my question immediately...you freeze and go rigid as your all too real orgasm hits. You moan quietly and continuously as I slowly caress your clit and he finger fucks your cunt in a frenzy of hard fast thrusts, through to the end of your climax. You press your mouth into my ear, to stem your cries, so as not to alarm everyone in the theater.
Looking around, I can see that no-one is interested in us. All the men seated in the rows between us and the stage are busy wanking-off at the amazing sight of Angelina because she has flicked her hair over her shoulder, bent over backwards, and spread her legs widely and wantonly, amazing the wankers with a blatant, unobstructed display of her cleanly shaved pussy in all its soaking wet, post orgasm glory.
Audiences aren't allowed to see sights like this on stage in London. Where is all the thick pussy hair that should be there to protect every stripper's modesty? Angelina has not just stepped beyond the boundary accidentally, she has done a pole-vault over it, flying free and breaking every rule in the book. Let's hope there aren't any 'Old Bill' wanking their cocks in the audience because London's policemen are famous for "always doing their duty." If there is a policeman in the audience, even if he is shooting spunk into his condom at this very moment, he will immediately feel duty bound to rush out to report the theater and get it closed down for allowing, "a performance of gross public indecency,"...because he's a two faced bastard!
As the curtain closes on Angelina's stunning performance, rapturous applause fills the theater. The lights come on and thankfully I can't see anyone rushing to leave because I am now looking at the man sitting next to you. He's an elderly, gray haired gentleman dressed in a business suit, complete with white shirt and tie, but in spite of his age, he obviously doesn't appreciate that his overcoat is supposed to be covering his lap. I know that for certain because I'm now watching your fast pumping hand bringing him to an orgasm and listening to him groaning quietly as his spunk fills the tip of his condom. While still holding onto his now rapidly wilting cock, you look innocently at me and say with a smile,
"It's the least I could do for him, after what he has done for me!"
I reply, "You are such a kind woman, of course you couldn't leave him hanging on the edge, but what about me and my hard cock? Shall we go and find ourselves a hotel room?"
"Yes please, as quickly as possible!" you confirm enthusiastically.
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Chapter 1 of London comes with two identically named but completely different pieces of "mood music" which I hope you will play when you get to the appropriate action. I suggest you open both music videos in separate windows and pause them so that you can quickly switch them on when you reach the points I've marked in the story.
Je T'aime - Serge Gainsborough
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rp7mamCpdcc
Je T'aime - Lara Fabian
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Gm5S43YC2uo&list=AL94UKMTqg-9C5TdX30P-mgFHYrHDSb57D&index=1&feature=plcp
-----------------
"London"
We meet in FantasyLand...
Chapter 1 - The Carousel Club
I am not sure why we are in London because it's not my favorite city in the world, but it is a city which people from all over the world flock to for their adult fun, so why not us? Our adventure begins with us walking through Chinatown, a delightful tourist area of restaurants, cafes and food shops on the edge of Soho in London's West End.
Look at the display of shining, brown-skinned Peking Ducks hanging in that Chinese restaurant's front window, they look delicious don't they? Can you smell the spicy foods sizzling in the wok's in their kitchen? Of course you can, because the aroma filled warm air from their kitchen is being piped and blown out into the street down by your feet, a crafty stimulation of your senses which aims to get you inside. We won't be doing that right now, but it's a temptation which is hard to resist after passing forty or fifty restaurants that are all doing the same thing. There's no wonder that this colorful area attracts thousands of tourists to dine here every night of the week...before they enjoy the other delights for which Soho has become internationally famous.
Soho has changed beyond recognition from what it used to be when I first visited it. Today it is an area of classy restaurants, trendy bars, delicatessens selling specialty foods from around the world and pubs, where locals gather to recall the times when Soho was the center of everything good in their lives and tell tales about the "good old days" to anyone who is willing to listen.
The good old days...when £10 would get a man a filling dinner, a seat in a strip-club for an entertaining couple of hours, a couple of pints of bitter beer and an enthusiastic "quicky" from one of the hundreds of girls and many more mature women who came from all over England, and many from France, to rent a tiny room, hang their red-light and "work" the area.
The good old days...when Soho was one of the world's best know sex centers. Visitors thought it strange how that could have happened when England had the strictest laws to prevent prostitution, pornography and all forms of erotic entertainment, all of which were available in abundance on the streets of Soho. Today we know the reason...many high ranking London police officers have retired to live the "good life" in luxury villas in Spain in exchange for allowing these i*****l activities to flourish on "their patch."
The good old days...when "having a good time in Soho" meant finding the underground, i*****l strip-clubs and bars where, unlike today's totally naked shows, the strippers would actually do what strippers are supposed to - walk onto a tiny stage in multiple layers of clothes and tease the guys in the audience while slowly taking them off, sometimes clumsily, but occasionally with an elegant style and a smile on their faces. These were the "hot" places where the strippers took off the pasties that were stuck on their nipples and the "Star of the Show" would break the entertainment licensing law by dropping her panties to show her thickly bearded pussy. Was there really a pussy hiding in there somewhere? We always suspected there could be, but we never knew it for certain because we got only a 5 seconds flash of the naked girl before all the stage lights would be turned off and she would leave the stage in total darkness. Oh yes, these were the places for watching the really "hard stuff"...but we never expected to actually see a stripper's pussy in those days...and the girls never disappointed us.
The good old days...when all the Soho bookshops had a small stock of novels on display in the front of the shop and a huge stock of i*****l pornography hidden away in a locked back-room. The door to the back-room would be opened only after the tough looking male shop-assistant had given a potential customer a grilling, "You're not 'Old Bill' are you?" expecting even foreign visitors to know that 'Old Bill' is London slang for the Police. If the customer could convince the shop-assistant that he wasn't 'Old Bill', the next question would be, "What do you want?" and the reply had better be, "Dirty pictures!" or the door would never be opened and the customer would be shown out into the street.
The good old days...when all the pubs closed at 10.30 pm. To get a later drink, visitors either had to go back to their hotel bar or find an i*****l drinking club, and Soho had those in abundance. Attractive, sexily dressed girls, standing inside darkly lit doorways, would entice visitors down a barely lighted "stairway to heaven" which led the unwary down into a small cellar bar. Once down there, a very friendly hostess would fleece them of all their holiday money in less than a hour of extortionately high-priced drinking, coupled with hostess and show fees and the most expensive packets of peanuts they would ever encounter in their lives. After a few minutes of friendly chat and drinks with a charming hostess, a visitor would received a well practiced line, something like...
"Unfortunately, there's a small delay with the erotic show, but don't worry, it will be starting in about 10 minutes, let me get you another whisky and dry..." and while moving quickly away from the table, she would add, "and if you don't mind I'll get myself another glass of champagne."
By the end of their second drink, an experienced hostess had learned enough about the visitor to be able to make an accurate guess at how much money he would have in his pocket. Her choice was then to offer him more drinks, or get him to pay and leave as quickly and with as little trouble as possible. The payoff went something like...
"I'm very sorry the show is delayed, there's a problem with the lighting but someone's working on it and it shouldn't take much longer to fix. By the way, you have to pay for our first two drinks before we can order any more...here's your bill."
A few confrontational minutes later, she suddenly isn't quite as friendly and charming as she once was...
"Our price-list is posted on the stairs where you came in, so don't accuse us of cheating you. We will call the police if you don't pay-up immediately!"
Small groups of tourists, couples and specially single men walking through the red light area were a prime target for touts working for these bars. The "all knowing, super friendly touts" would offer to take visitors to a place where a "special erotic show" was taking place...and yes, can you believe it, it's in a cellar bar, not far away, down a darkly lit "stairway to heaven!"
BUT right now, as we walk into the heart of Soho, I am telling you about a club I used to go for a good time, without getting ripped off.
"I remember there was a place I used to go to near here, the Carousel Club, but that was back when striptease was an art form. The strippers were always smiling and having fun with the audience, there weren't any hostesses, and a drink didn't cost a day's wages."
We turn a corner into yet another of Soho's maze of short, narrow streets and I immediately recognise that this is where the club used to be, but isn't any longer.
"That's where it was, over there where that empty shop is!" I tell you, pointing towards a vacant shop which is for rent.
"I wish you could have seen it as it used to be!" I add, while turning to admire the delicious looking pastries and cakes in the window of an Italian coffee shop.
"Which empty shop?" you ask puzzled, "Do you mean over there where that Club is! Look...isn't that the Carousel Club?"
I turn back and I can't believe my eyes. There it is! The vacant shop has disappeared and I'm now seeing the old familiar neon signs blinking out their enticing message...
"The Carousel Club - Naked Girls - Soho's Only Extravaganza Of Sex".
Suddenly we have both gone back to the time I was telling you about. FantasyLand has once again worked its magic to grant me my wish...we're going to see some good old-fashioned striptease!
Taking your hand, I start to lead you over the road towards the Club, but our way is being blocked by a large, blond-haired woman who has broken away from a small group of similar women to confront us. She appears to be about 45 to 50 years old at a guess, but she could be younger since she looks like someone who has lived a hard life. As we get closer to her I pay her more attention. She is heavily made-up and her jet black, thick eye brows and long lashes contrast starkly with her peroxide blond hair, piled and pinned up high on top of her head. Her smiling lips are a wide smudge of bright red lipstick. Glancing further down, her tight fitting, low cut blouse can hardly contain her large floppy tits and her broad ass has somehow been squeezed into a skin-tight mini-skirt. Further down, beyond her black fish-net stockings, I see that she is doing a remarkably good job of keeping her balance while wearing flimsy, extra high-heeled, stiletto pointed shoes. So of course, as you can imagine, I find her very attractive!
Smiling broadly at us, she doesn't waste any time in offering her services...,
"Are you looking for a good time Dearies? I have a lovely warm flat nearby and I'll do you both for five pounds."
She doesn't wait for any response before turning her attention to you...
"I love being the filling in a sandwich, don't you Dearie?" then, as she thrusts her hand roughly between your legs, she continues, "C'mon darling, you'll love it. I'll lick and finger you while he shags me from behind! Tell him to give me five pounds and let's go enjoy ourselves!"
We are both stunned, but I quickly recover.
"Get your hands off her and FUCK OFF!" I shout, while roughly trying to push her away from you. Not very gentlemanly I know, but at least I've got my message across. She drops the false smile, reluctantly withdraws her hand from your crotch and takes a step back to let us pass...but not without a final and unusual comment.
"Didn't anyone ever teach you that it's wrong to use bad language when ladies are present. I'm a lady I am and I'm sure your friend is too, you ought to be ashamed of yourself, swearing like that. There was no need to push me either, you can't blame a lady for trying to earn a living!"
She has stunned me and I'm remembering how we used to speak not all that many years ago, before "fuck and fucking" became part of everyday conversation. I do feel ashamed and I'm all set to apologize to this street-prostitute who considers herself "a lady", but you prevent me doing that be squeezing my hand and telling me...
"Let's go, you did great!"
Walking towards the Club, you tell me,
"I didn't like that woman, but I do feel sorry for her if that is what she has to do to feed herself!"
"Yeah, and there are hundreds more like her doing that in London, but cheer-up, would you like to see how more talented women earn their living in Soho?" I reply.
"Of course, that's why you have brought me here isn't it?" you say with a smile.
"Not only!" I say hopefully, "I'm sure we will be doing much more than watch striptease tonight!"
"Definitely!" you promise, and with a gentle laugh you add, "As soon as my pussy starts purring!"
The entrance to the Carousel Club is exactly as I remember it, plushly decorated with red and gold flock wallpaper, and two golden Eros statues standing in little alcoves on either side of the ticket desk. The walls are covered with framed pictures of Star performers from the past and London newspaper cuttings, written no-doubt by well rewarded journalists, explaining why this is the only strip-club in Soho worth visiting. While you are admiring the ladies in the pictures and reading the cuttings, my attention isn't on what you are looking at, it is entirely and unwaveringly focussed on the vision of loveliness that is now before me.
The front reception and ticket desk is small, but the stunningly beautiful young woman sitting there isn't small in any department. My eyes are on her magnificent breasts and I am enjoying the teasing sight of her aureoles peeking out above her skimpy, low-cut blouse, while hoping that her nipples will pop-out at any moment. Unfortunately, they don't, and after a long lingering look, I feel obliged to drag my gaze away and look up into her welcoming blue eyes. She is smiling, no doubt amused by the look of total rapture I have on my face.
"Are you both Members?" she asks, quite businesslike.
"No, we're not!" you answer for me, seemingly fully aware that I'm fighting to regain control of my senses and that I am not yet capable of speaking coherently.
"Er, no!" I add a moment later, "perhaps you can help us with that?"
"Of course," she replies, "I'm sure I will be able to help you. First I have to tell you that you have to apply for membership 24 hours before you can enter the Club - it's the Law you know."
"Yes, I do remember that, but possibly you can offer a solution to that problem. I had the identical problem a couple of years ago when I was only in London for one day!"
"Of course Sir. Kindly fill in this card with your name and town, I don't need your full address. Your lady-friend doesn't need to be a Member, she's allowed in as your Guest. Now I suppose you want to go straight inside, without waiting 24 hours, is that right?"
"Yes, it is!" I confirm.
"OK, then please write yesterday's date on the card. I will enter you into the New Member's List together with those who applied to join yesterday. If you don't mind, my service charge for this will be £2 each, the same as the price of your all-day tickets!" she says sweetly.
I pay her and she continues, "If you would care for a drink, here is a copy of our price list. The bar is at the theater entrance, down those steps. If you don't drink, there is nothing else to pay, but if you enjoy a girl's performance, she will appreciate you giving her a small gift!"
I thank her and reluctantly drag myself away from her desk with just one long, last look back to see if her nipples have popped-out at last...they haven't. My attention now turns wholly to you and your smiling, amused face as I comment...
"I think you are going to enjoy this!"
"Oh really, I thought I was here purely for your enjoyment!" you reply teasingly.
"Not only, just wait until the show is under way and you'll see what I mean!" I tease in return.
Moments later, with a drink in our hands, we pass through a heavily curtained doorway and enter the small, darkly lit theater. The seating is arranged in six, cinema like rows with about 10 seats in each, with the first row almost touching the tiny stage. We sit on the back row, the only row that is completely empty. The front seats are all taken and as the rows go back, there are less and less men sitting on them. It will soon become obvious to you why that is.
We have been quietly sipping our drinks for a couple of minutes and our eyes have now grown used to the darkness, when you comment...
"It's very warm in here, isn't it!"
"Yes it is, let me help you off with your clothes!" I respond.
"No way, I'm not here to entertain these guys!" you reply with a little giggle.
"OK then, perhaps just your coat," I suggest.
You stand-up and slide quickly out of your coat, but your actions have not been missed by anyone in the audience!
"Lady, you have to wait until the music starts before you start stripping!" calls out one guy. Everyone in the audience turns to look at you and laughs. You smile and blush charmingly, encouraging another guy to add,
"Come to the front and get on the stage sweetheart, you will be the Star of the show!"
I call back, "C'mon lads, she's embarrassed that I've brought her in here, don't make it any worse!"
"Sorry mate, just having a bit of fun!" he answers. Everyone in the audience looks back to the stage and silence is restored.
I whisper to you...
"They are only having a good time, there's nothing to be worried about. Back in these times, they wouldn't ever expect you to strip-off and go round giving them all blow-jobs!"
Your reply is of course perfectly predictable...
"What a pity, I'd love to do that!"
Suddenly, the background music ramps-up from soft to loud and we are being treated to Je T'aime, the slow erotic song sung by Serge Gainsborough which has to be the most popular music that London's strippers have ever chosen to strip to, (YES...it's music time!)
Over the music, a man's deep voice tells us...
"Gentlemen, for your pleasure the Carousel Club is proud to bring you a vision of purity and loveliness. Please welcome the very graceful and ooohhh so incredibly erotic...
Francine!"
The audience begins clapping as bright lights illuminate the stage curtain. Moments later it slides quietly back to reveal a small stage, set with a back-cloth and furniture to look like part of the lounge of a wealthy family. A pretty, tall brunette, dressed as a French Maid, is waving her feather duster while moving slowly, seductively around the stage, flicking imaginary dust off the few pieces of furniture. She smiles attractively while looking along the rows of gentlemen in front of her, no doubt checking to see whether there is anyone there who is known to be a "big tipper". Instead her eyes focus on you and her smile broadens. Shielding her eyes from the bright lights she checks again to be sure she is seeing what she thinks she is seeing.
"Oh My God, there's a woman in the audience!" she calls out, and waves you a greeting. When you wave back to her, she blows you a most charming kiss and calls out,
"Welcome to the Carousel Club, I hope you have a good time!"
Gracefully and skillfully, Francine dances to the sensuous music, making sure that everyone in her audience gets time up-close to her so they are able to fully appreciate her beauty. Right now she is at the back of the stage, facing away from her audience and she is slowly bending over while pretending to be dusting the lower parts of the furniture. Actually she is giving us a long exotic look up her short skirt and showing us her stunning ass, barely covered by a skimpy pair of black lace panties, and her beautiful long, shapely legs and thighs, enhanced by black lace topped fish-net stockings, held up by a garter belt. We are following every sexy move she makes and I am also wishing that her panties will miraculously move to one side and give us a brief, exciting flash of her pussy. Who knows what erotic thoughts the other men in the audience are having about her but I can guess and I have no doubt that, like me, their cocks already starting to "come to attention".
Francine moves gracefully to the front of the stage, she stops in front of a bald-headed man and bends forward while looking down at him, gazing into his eyes. The loosely fitting white blouse of her maid costume falls forward, teasing us with the first glimpse of her large breasts. With a small shake of her body, her breasts "accidentally, on purpose" fall out, amid loud clapping from her audience. Silver pasties cover her nipples and long gold tassels hang from them. She swings her breasts from side to side above the bald man's head, the tassels swing and twirl...then, as she swings her breasts more vigorously, the tassels begin spinning like airplane propellers. The audience claps loudly and she smiles broadly, almost laughing, as she enjoys the feeling of erotic power that she holds over the excited men watching her.
She stops twirling her tassels, leans further over the bald-headed man and says,
"Excuse me Sir, but I think there is some dust on top of here!"
Carefully and meticulously she dusts the top of his bald head with her feather duster, amid laughter and applause. As compensation, she then kneels in front of the man and pulls his face forward to rest between her breasts, which she pushes together, wrapping them around him. As she releases him, she plants a kiss on his forehead, leaving a perfect bright red print of her beautifully shaped lips.
The guy sitting next to him immediately calls out, "My head needs dusting too!" and both Francine and everyone in her audience laugh loudly. I look at you and see that you are already entering into the spirit of this entertainment - its fun and you are relaxed and enjoying it!
The old bald-headed guy reaches up to Francine and pushes a 10 shilling note into the leg of her panties, quite a considerable tip at the time. I noticed that unlike anyone giving a tip to a stripper today, he quickly removes his hand, hardly touching her skin before she moves away from him. I keep silent about what I am thinking, 'If that was me today, the tip would be much bigger and I would be allowed to reach inside her panties and stroke her pussy - and she wouldn't move away quite so quickly!'
Moving now to the sofa, Francine gracefully unzips her maid's costume and slowly and tantalizingly, lets it slide from her body onto the floor. She sits on the sofa facing us, lays back comfortably, tantalizingly adjusts her panties to make sure that nothing is showing which shouldn't be, and begins stroking her long shapely legs. In my opinion they look exquisite in the black net stockings and garter belt that she is wearing, but her routine calls for their removal, so that is exactly what she does next. Spreading her legs and pointing them at the ceiling in a wide-open V, she reaches up and slides each stocking down over her smooth legs while erotically stroking the inside of her thighs, almost but not quite touching her pussy in the process. For a few long moments, with her legs still split and vertical, she once again lifts and adjusts her panties to "better" cover her pussy and ass-hole. It takes her several attempts to get the panties into the exact position she wants because they keep slipping between her pussy lips and into her ass crack, and that doesn't appear to suit her at all, but it does have her audience mesmerized. Only the guys sitting at the centre of the front row actually get a flash of her pussy as she manipulates her panties, but the applause from them is deafening. She lays back almost horizontally so that we can't see her face now, but the erotic sight of her wide spread legs and the panties "almost" covering her pussy and ass as she adjusts them, is more than compensating for that.
"She is lovely, isn't she?" you whisper to me.
"She certainly is!" I whisper back.
"Will she take her panties off?" you ask somewhat excitedly, as if you are hoping she will.
"You will have to wait and see!" I tease in reply.
After removing her stockings so very gracefully, Francine is now standing facing her audience dressed only in pasties and panties. As I admire her beautiful face and body, I am thinking that she is not only a lovely looking woman, she is perfectly at ease on stage while being both intensely erotic and at the same time charming and fun loving. Francine is the kind of woman that any man today would be proud to escort to a swinger's party, knowing that she is going to be the star of the show. She smiles again and lifts her hands, beckoning her audience to come forward to her...or is it something that she's wanting from her audience?
"OFF, OFF, OFF" calls the knowledgeable audience in response.
Not for the first time, Francine laughs and her pearly white toothy smile turns even broader than before.
"WHAT?" she calls, "I CAN'T HEAR YOU!"
"OFF! OFF! OFF!" the audience chant more loudly.
She reaches for her pasties, "YOU WANT ME TO TAKE THESE OFF?" she calls out.
"OFF! OFF! OFF!" her audience continues to chant.
A twist of her wrists and the pasties fall away to reveal the prettiest pair of pink nipples anyone could wish to see. Her audience applauds wildly.
"They're not big, but I would love to get my lips around them!" I whisper into your ear.
"That's funny, I was just thinking, I'd love to see you suck and squeeze her nipples to see if you could make them hard!" you reply naughtily
As if reading your thoughts Francine takes a grip on both her nipples and pulls and twists them. They respond perfectly, standing proud after just a few moments of intense stimulation. The audience are clapping continuously now, they adore this girl.
"Oh yes!" you confirm, "she has the kind of nipples I would love to play with. She is absolutely gorgeous!" What?...shall I ask you to repeat that?...no, I'd better just store it in my memory bank for later.
I notice that you have a hand in your lap and you seems to be pressing it down onto your pussy. I slip my hand under yours, so that it is my hand which is now pressing on your pussy. As my fingers stroke you through your clothes, you tell me, almost innocently and in words totally in keeping with the period we are now in...
"Thank you for your very kind assistance Sir!"
Francine is now coming to the peak of her performance, she stands and moves to the front and centre of the stage. Turning her back to the audience she slowly and teasingly takes a grip on the top of her panties and draws them down her thighs, which she is keeping closely pressed together. As she slides the panties further down her legs, she gradually bends forward. Skillfully and teasingly she avoids parting her legs enough for us to get even the slightest glimpse of what she is hiding from us. However, as the panties reach the floor she looks back over her shoulder, flashes another brilliant smile and slowly parts her legs to show us her pussy and ass-hole. There is absolute silence as she holds the pose for a few thrilling moments, treating the guys to a long look at what they have all paid to see!
"Why aren't they clapping?" you ask.
"They can't clap with only one hand!" I explain, "Haven't you noticed that they all have their coats d****d over their legs? That's because they're all furiously wanking their cocks under their coats! They started when she started adjusting her panties, then went into high gear when they realized she was going to take her panties off. They won't stop wanking until she has left the stage and then they will clap!"
I look at you carefully, your cheeks are flushed, perhaps it is too hot in here, or perhaps Francine's show and the knowledge that all the guys around you are secretly jerking their cocks, has really got to you. Perhaps the pressure of my hand on your pussy has started it purring already!
With a wave, a blown kiss directed at you, and a call of "Thank You" to her audience, the bright stage lights are turned off and Francine walks from the stage in perfect darkness, as the curtains close. The applause reaches a crescendo...the music fades...the loud applause dies...and the dim house lights are turned back on again.
"WOW!" you exclaim, "I never expected that. I loved watching that girl. Will she be on again?"
"Later possibly, some of the girls perform several times during the night, but the Stars normally perform only once. I'm not sure that Francine will perform again, and if she does it will be after a couple of hours!" I answer...then I go on to explain why. "She will now be running to another Club to perform. The girls usually perform at several Clubs on the same night, rushing round to fit in all their performances and never getting any rest between. It's amazing that Francine is so cheerful and that she enjoys interacting with her audience when she is doing the same thing over and over, every night."
"That's really hard work, I hope she is making lots of money!" you comment.
"I doubt it," I reply, " I guess she can barely live on what she earns from the Club shows but she's not going to get rich unless she's earning extra money another way. Some of these girls do private shows and they can earn big money if they are willing to get together with another girl to do lesbian shows and have sex with their clients."
"So nothing has changed over all these years. that's still happening today, I mean, in our time!" you comment.
"Oh really...what can you tell me about that?" I quiz, anxious to learn where you got that information from.
"Sorry, I have to pee!" is your reasonable excuse for not revealing the source of your knowledge on that subject.
Off you go in the direction of the Ladies' toilet, followed by the eyes of about forty guys who are following your every movement. Only one guy, me, is looking at those forty guys to be sure that no-one follows you to where you are going. No-one does, evidently I didn't need to worry, these were the times when gentlemen were basically decent perverts.
As you return to your seat, a guy in the center of the front row gets up and puts on his coat to leave the theater. The guy seated immediately behind him also gets up, and the one behind him, and the one behind him and so on. As the first guy leaves his seat, all the other guys climb over the seat-back in front of them to move one row closer to the front.
"They have to stop wanking to get a better seat!" you comment laughingly.
"Yeah, but did you notice that no-one could make a move until the first guy had put his cock away and zipped-up." I reply
"Well what happens if they cum!" you ask.
"They do cum! They put on a condom in the toilet before going to their seat and they take it off when they leave!" I inform you, "Watch where he goes!"
Surely enough, the guy from the front row makes a bee-line straight to the Gent's toilet.
"So what do you know about today's strippers giving private shows?" I repeat hopefully.
"I must have seen it in a magazine!" is your unacceptable answer.
Before I can press you, the music ramps-up again and we are treated to another Je T'aime, one I haven't heard before, but instantly like (Yes, it's music time again...the lovely Lara Fabian, who could definitely have been a Star stripper...if only she didn't have such a fantastic voice!)
The anonymous announcer is back,
"Gentleman AND LADY," he says, drawing a quick burst of applause meant only for you, "the Carousel Club is proud to present the Star of our show. Please give a warm welcome to an International Striptease Star making her first appearance on a London stage. She is an incredibly beautiful and erotically gifted lady...and her name is Angelina...
The curtain opens and we see that there is only one prop on stage, a large white, wing-backed cane chair with soft cushions. Seated on it is a vision of stunning beauty. Angelina is a young, slender Eurasian with long black hair which is gathered over one shoulder and falls down her front. It is the longest hair I have ever seen worn by a young woman and it shines like pure silk, set alight by the brightness of a single spot-light centered on the chair and Angelina, aside from which, the entire stage is pitch-black.
Angelina is wearing a long white sheath dress, split up one side to thigh length, and with a plunging neckline which reaches almost to her waist. With bare feet, she is dressed so simply and yet she has immediately attracted the rapt attention of her audience not only because of that simplicity but also because her beautiful face is a pure joy to behold. There is no doubt that she could grace the front page of any fashion magazine in the world if that was what she wanted...which only makes me wonder why she prefers to be a stripper in a small club in London? Can anyone understand the mentality which drives many of the world's most beautiful women to do the most unexpected things? I know I certainly can't!
You lean towards me and whisper, "She is absolutely beautiful isn't she!"...expressing your admiration in words which no-one could possibly argue with.
"Oh yes, she really is, and it's also obvious that she isn't a normal Soho club stripper. This isn't going to be a funny strip show like the last one, I have a feeling that this is going to be something completely different!" I reply.
With the powerful voice of Laura Fabian flowing over her, Angelina rises slowly from the chair and stands facing her audience, her legs slightly apart, one leg dramatically peeking through the split in her skirt. Her head begins to move from side to side then, as she slowly raises her arms, her hands begin twisting and turning gracefully, in perfect time to the music, as she sways her slender body. Her eyes are closed as she gives herself up to the rhythms of the haunting music and enhances them with her own interpretations of sensuous Asian dance. Her hand and arm movements are fascinatingly exotic as they rise and fall from above her head down to her waist, while the fingers of each hand point, twist and turn in graceful unison...presenting a vision of beauty which wouldn't be out of place in any Thai King's palace.
As the powerful mood of the music builds and takes hold of her emotions, her movements become stronger. Her swaying body and hand movements become more exaggerated, less graceful, more sexual as they begin to stroke up and down her body. A perfectly formed leg now slips completely into view through the split in her skirt. She caresses her bare thigh, moving her hand slowly up and down it. A beautifully tanned, naked breast slides into view from behind her plunging neckline as she twists and turns her body. Her graceful Thai dance has become a quickly forgotten memory as her now writhing body gives us quick flashes of her intensely erotic body. With the music gripping her emotions, her dance explodes into a free ballet style. Moving vigorously across the stage, perfectly interpreting the mounting intensity of the music, her dress flows behind her body. There is no modesty now as her naked breasts fall from the dress and her powerful legs propel her body into long, high leaps which leave her dress floating in space. So skillfully, she has turned Asian dance into ballet and then turned ballet into a powerful and intensely beautiful erotic experience. As the song comes to its end, the spectacle of this graceful dancing beauty also reaches its peak, she makes one last leap and lands with her feet apart, facing the audience. Slowly and smoothly her dress slides from her shoulders, over her shapely breasts, and down her hips, finally landing at her feet on the floor. For a few seconds she stands completely naked, gasping for breath in the spotlight...a vision of total erotic delight. The spotlight slowly dims but before it fades completely, Angelina flicks her head and skillfully casts her long hair over her shoulder to run down between her breasts and cover her pussy.
At this moment the spot-light switches off, plunging the stage into total darkness. Thunderous applause breaks out, however, it stops after a few moments when the same music begins again. The spot-light once again hits the center of the stage to reveal Angelina once again sitting in the chair. This time she is completely naked, with her legs wide open, but with her hair still running down between her breasts, covering her pussy.
You decide that it is the perfect time to enlighten me on exactly why you went to the ladies toilet. You take my hand and slip it under your coat, which is now laying over your lap, and guide it down to your... OMG...naked, wet pussy.
"It is purring with pleasure and needs a good stroking!" you whisper to me.
As I slip a finger between your pussy lips, it is greeted with a wetness that I could never have expected. You explain, "Francine did that to me! Perhaps you and this girl will do a lot more!".
I begin a steady stroking, moving my finger in a slow circular motion around your clit, exactly as you like it. It hardens immediately and I split two fingers, gripping and pinching your pussy lips between them. I am sliding my fingers up and down on each side of your clit now, reaching down to stroke the entrance to your well lubricated cunt, when another man enters the darkened theater and comes to sit on the other side of you. Worried that he may realize what I am doing, I stop touching you. I slide my hand from under your coat and concentrate my attention on the erotic spectacle on the stage.
Angelina is swaying her body, but now one of her hands is holding her hair in place below her pussy, every time she moves her head and body, her thick hair brushes excitingly against her pussy. We know it, but we can't actually see it, we see only her hair stroking between her legs as she makes her graceful swaying movements in time with the music. It is at this point that we hear her voice for the first time, she lets out a soft moan signalling the mounting effect of her unique hair masturbation. With her head turned to one side and her hair pulled taut against her pussy and one breast, her free hand moves to grasp, pull and twist the nipple that we can see. She allows us to watch her doing that for a few moments before a flick of her head sends her hair moving to cover that breast and her hand moves to her other nipple. Again and again she squeezes, pulls and twists her nipples and as she does that, she is pulling her hair tighter and tighter between her legs...against her swollen pussy-lips. Her moans are becoming louder, and as the music intensifies towards its peak her nipples and pussy are being stimulated faster and faster by her head and hair movements.
With this happening on stage and the man on the other side of you safely engrossed in what Angelina is doing to herself, I figure it is safe to resume my pussy stroking. I slip my hand under your coat and onto.... OMG, another hand...with its fingers already pumping in and out of your cunt. I look at you and see that your cheeks are flushed and that your glistening eyes are riveted on the stage spectacle. I decide that this is no time to raise any objections, it's time for me give the other man a helping hand. Fortunately, he has left me just enough space to be able to rub your clit and to leave him finger fucking you hard and deep. It is a perfect compromise, and your excited face is now confirming that without you needing to say anything.
Angelina has now moved her free hand from her breasts and down to her pussy. She moves her hair just far enough for us to see that her hand is indeed on her pussy and that, with one finger deep inside herself, she is masturbating herself with some vigor. After a few moments, her hair magically moves again to cover that scene...and confirm what a supreme strip-tease artist and consummate prick-teaser this girl is!
Luckily Angelina's moans are now filling the theater, because this is the point where you also start to let everyone within earshot know how excited you are. You move your head to rest it on my shoulder and throwing all caution to the wind, throw back your coat to give me and the stranger next to you enough freedom and space to bring you to a much needed orgasm. My fingers are flying over your clit and the other man's fingers are twisting, turning and pumping in and out of your now pulsating cunt.
The music is nearing its peak, Angelina is driving herself to orgasm on stage and you are on the edge of your seat, taking the finger fucking of a life-time. I'm thinking that you must surely be on the very edge of an orgasm and as the last strains of the music fade, Angelina cries out to signal her fake orgasm, leaving me wondering...is this what you have been waiting for? You answer my question immediately...you freeze and go rigid as your all too real orgasm hits. You moan quietly and continuously as I slowly caress your clit and he finger fucks your cunt in a frenzy of hard fast thrusts, through to the end of your climax. You press your mouth into my ear, to stem your cries, so as not to alarm everyone in the theater.
Looking around, I can see that no-one is interested in us. All the men seated in the rows between us and the stage are busy wanking-off at the amazing sight of Angelina because she has flicked her hair over her shoulder, bent over backwards, and spread her legs widely and wantonly, amazing the wankers with a blatant, unobstructed display of her cleanly shaved pussy in all its soaking wet, post orgasm glory.
Audiences aren't allowed to see sights like this on stage in London. Where is all the thick pussy hair that should be there to protect every stripper's modesty? Angelina has not just stepped beyond the boundary accidentally, she has done a pole-vault over it, flying free and breaking every rule in the book. Let's hope there aren't any 'Old Bill' wanking their cocks in the audience because London's policemen are famous for "always doing their duty." If there is a policeman in the audience, even if he is shooting spunk into his condom at this very moment, he will immediately feel duty bound to rush out to report the theater and get it closed down for allowing, "a performance of gross public indecency,"...because he's a two faced bastard!
As the curtain closes on Angelina's stunning performance, rapturous applause fills the theater. The lights come on and thankfully I can't see anyone rushing to leave because I am now looking at the man sitting next to you. He's an elderly, gray haired gentleman dressed in a business suit, complete with white shirt and tie, but in spite of his age, he obviously doesn't appreciate that his overcoat is supposed to be covering his lap. I know that for certain because I'm now watching your fast pumping hand bringing him to an orgasm and listening to him groaning quietly as his spunk fills the tip of his condom. While still holding onto his now rapidly wilting cock, you look innocently at me and say with a smile,
"It's the least I could do for him, after what he has done for me!"
I reply, "You are such a kind woman, of course you couldn't leave him hanging on the edge, but what about me and my hard cock? Shall we go and find ourselves a hotel room?"
"Yes please, as quickly as possible!" you confirm enthusiastically.
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3 years ago