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From: Kalisha Connors <kalishaconnors@yahoo.com>
X-ASSTR-Original-Date: Thu, 22 May 2003 06:07:57 -0700 (PDT)
Subject: {ASSM} Kalisha does a 360 {Kalisha Connors} (MF,FF,F+F,exhib)
Date: Thu, 22 May 2003 20:10:04 -0400
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(c) 2003 by Kalisha Connors. All rights reserved. This is the
second Kalisha story, coming after "Kalisha Meets the Goddess."
Kalisha Does a 360
Nearly a week had passed since Kalisha had encountered a goddess
at O'Malley's bar. It was late on a Friday night, and she was
walking home alone, dressed in a figure concealing blue business
suit. The street was crowded with people jostling each other as
they headed to restaurants and bars, and Kalisha envied their
energy. It seemed somehow deeply inappropriate that the Monday
after she met the goddess, Mr. Johnson had dumped a major new
account into her lap with a Friday deadline. At least she was
finished, even if it had taken a week of fourteen-hour days.
There were times she hated being an accountant-- although
generally not on payday.
A man brushed her shoulder, and she grabbed her purse tight. One
couldn't be too careful, she thought. She laughed quietly. Face
it, Kalisha, you just aren't the wild and crazy type. Caution
comes naturally to you. Last Saturday night's promise to change
all that seemed like a flight of fancy. Still, she had enjoyed
kissing Aphrodite in the bar -- and had enjoyed the heat of the
eyes watching her as they kissed.
"Aphrodite?" she asked, but there was no answer, nothing but the
rustling of a few pieces of paper that were blowing down the
sidewalk. Kalisha sighed. Goddesses, it seemed, only talked to
you when they felt like it.
A man walked by, and went into a bar with blackened windows.
White letters on the window read "The 360 Club." 360 what,
wondered Kalisha, as she kept walking. Degrees, maybe, a
complete turn around. Just what I need. She stopped, glanced
about. She noticed the number 356. Of course-- she lived at
190. The place was named after a street address. Blackened
windows, an uninteresting sign, and a meaningless name. Why
would anyone choose to go there? she wondered. She walked a
little further, and then stopped again. Curiosity got the better
of her.
She walked back and opened the dark door. There was a tiny
hallway, not much more than eight feet long and half as wide,
with another door at the end. The hallway wasn't well lit, with
only a single bluish light, but the second door did seem a little
more inviting: a clean wooden door stained to look like maple,
and varnished to reflect what little light struck it. Now that
she was away from the street, Kalisha could make out rock music
coming through the thick wood. Her eyes adjusted to the
darkness. She took a breath, opened the door. A tide of sound
washed over her. She walked in.
What lay beyond was no more brightly lit than the hallway, or at
least, it was lit selectively.
My goodness, she's not wearing anything, was her first thought.
A stage, or perhaps it was better called a catwalk, was the
recipient of almost all the light, with a little leaking out to
the patrons sitting on barstools around it. The rest of the
tables were shrouded in darkness, broken only by the occasional
lit votive candle.
The girl on the stage was completely naked. Her breasts were
small, with nipples that stuck straight out, but there was enough
to bounce around as she gyrated around the pole in the center.
Her only garment was a lacy garter that was stuffed with dollar
bills. Her hair was a large fluffy expanse of platinum that
Kalisha suspected came straight from a bottle.
She stood there for a moment, transfixed while the dancer
acknowledged a patron that had added a bill to her stash by
spreading her legs and dancing for a few brief moments as if it
was all just for him. Then she became aware of the large black
man who was perched on a stool near the entrance looking at her.
No doubt he was there to weed out anyone who couldn't show ID.
Kalisha was in her mid-twenties, close enough to be carded most
places, but the man didn't say anything to her. More accustomed
to the darkness, now, she spotted a seat at an empty table in the
corner, and quickly moved to sit down.
When she looked back to the stage, the blonde was leaving to
scattered applause. She blew kisses to a few of the patrons, and
gathered up her scattered clothes, walking back down the catwalk,
which bent to the right and ended in a door. Probably a dressing
room. A voluptuous brunette was next, wearing a very tight
policewoman's uniform and swinging a billy club. Half of a
policewoman's uniform, anyway, the shirt, which was just long
enough to cover the woman's panties. Or maybe she wasn't wearing
any.
A waitress came by, her breasts swaying braless beneath a white
crop top, her black shorts painted on. Kalisha had to shout over
the music to order a coke. The policewoman danced and
unbuttoned, finally revealing that she was, in fact, wearing a
black lacy bra and matching thong.
A young man entered, and got carded. He looked a little nervous,
and a trifle geeky, with thick glasses. College age, guessed
Kalisha, a few years younger than me. He looked around,
seemingly trying to find an empty table. Finally, he sat down
next to Kalisha, avoiding eye contact.
The bra had flown off by the time he sat down, and the panties
were shimmering down the brunette's legs to reveal a neatly
trimmed bush.
"Enjoying the show?" asked Kalisha quietly.
The young man looked around startled. "You're a girl!" he
exclaimed.
It is dark in here, thought Kalisha. True, her nearly black hair
was cropped short, she was as tall as most men, and her breasts
were largely concealed by the loose cotton blouse she had worn to
work, but in good light no one ever made that mistake. She
smiled at the boy's expression. He looked ready to bolt.
"Don't let it bother you," she said. "Watch the show."
The woman played with her billy club, moving it up and down her
thighs suggestively while twirling some handcuffs in her left
hand. Kalisha glanced around, watching the men watch. She had
power, this woman, she realized. Each and every one of the men
here were in her thrall, wondering what she was going to do with
the billy club. No one was being charged anything, yet money was
being tossed onto the stage in tribute to the woman's naked
beauty.
Aphrodite would be pleased, thought Kalisha. This is hertemple.
The stripper was collecting the money from the stage now. The
billy club had just been a tease, and the handcuffs too.
"Watch the show," Kalisha whispered. "And don't turn around
again, or I'll leave."
Her hardly moved, but to nod. A red headed "schoolgirl" was next
up.
Kalisha smiled to watch the man obey. I have power here, too,
she thought. "Don't you wish she had put it in her?" she asked.
A nod. Apparently, he didn't even dare speak.
"Or let you put it in her?"
He swallowed, but didn't answer. Kalisha looked down, but saw to
her disappointment that it was too dark to tell how hard he was.
If it's too dark to see, thought Kalisha, I'll have to find out
some other way. She reached out her hand until she felt denim,
and then slid it up. She wasn't disappointed-- he was as hard as
she expected, and he started delightfully at her touch.
"Just watch," she said, as he started to turn towards her again.
He turned his eyes back to the slowly undressing redhead.
Kalisha found the boy's zipper, and slid it down while the girl
started to undo more buttons. By the time the roundness of the
girl's breasts and the white lace of her bra were in full view,
Kalisha had managed to free a rampant cock. Her fingers slid
along the silky skin of it. Her index finger collected some
wetness from the tip, which cooled slowly on her finger.
Kalisha traced the veins on the cock she held, her fingernails
gently scraping the sensitive skin at the end. Now the dancer
began to move faster, caught up in the moment. She twirled, her
skirt rising with higher as she moved faster. A single clasp
held it on, and then the dancer undid the clasp and the rolled
off of her, leaving her in underwear and her mary janes.
Kalisha slid her hand rapidly up and down on the boy's smooth
cock, keeping time with the music and the dancer's movements. As
the stripper removed her bra, flashing small pink breasts with
rosy nipples, warm fluid ran over Kalisha's hand. The boy's
shoulder quivered, and Kalisha slipped away, leaving only an
empty seat to great his gaze if he ever looked around.
She sat behind a businessman next, in a nice gray suit. He was
probably fifty, twice her age. He, too, obeyed her when she told
him not to turn around. She reached around him, unzipped his
trousers while a dusky skinned beauty took the redhead's place on
the stage. His cock grew slowly in her hands, and she pressed
her body up against his back. He lasted the entire dance before
she felt the warm wetness on her hands. She wiped her hands dry
on his expensive trousers, and moved on, a flittering angel of
lust.
There were a few other men in corners, sitting alone, but
something made her pass them up. They would look, she knew
somehow. They would not be content with the anonymous pleasure
she was offering tonight. How she could tell this from the
shadows of their face she didn't know, but she was certain of it,
anyway.
A little closer to the stage sat a thirty-something, slender,
with a neatly trimmed beard and a red power tie. There was more
light there, but not enough to make out much in the way of
features, and the empty seat next to him where Kalisha sat was in
the shadow of a supporting pillar. When he felt her questing
hands, the man undid his zipper. Kalisha held his cock in her
right hand, her left slipping under the waistband of her skirt,
snaking into her panties. The angle was wrong, and she changed
tactics, hiking up her skirt until she could reach the other way.
That, too, was awkward-- she could just barely get her fingers
to her moist slit. Her hand on the man's cock faltered, and
Kalisha just barely noticed him start to turn. "Don't," she
said, her hand reaching to the man's cheekbone to turn him back.
Her fingers held a little of her wetness, she knew, and she
wondered if he felt the wetness against his cheek. In any case,
he did not turn.
The waitress came by, the same one that had brought Kalisha a
coke before. She could see what was happening, Kalisha was sure.
Her heart beat faster. But she said nothing, just took the
man's beer order and swished away. The presence of an observer
seemed to excite the man, though, for his already stiff cock grew
even larger in Kalisha's hand.
When the waitress came back, she pulled a note from under her
tight shirt and handed it past the man to Kalisha. Her breasts,
thought Kalisha, he's turned on by the thought that her breasts
might pop out from beneath that crop top. And then, as the
waitress reached past, her breasts brushed against the man's
face, and he came.
Kalisha slipped through the crowd to another table, one with a
candle flickering on it, and read the note.
"Come to the dressing room," it said.
The brunette with the nightstick was back on stage, this time as
a nurse. All that was left of her costume was a stethoscope,
however.
Interesting place to listen to a pulse, thought Kalisha.
She watched, not sure what to do next, as the stripper finished
up, and gathered up her clothes. The redheaded schoolgirl was
leather clad, riding crop gripped in her teeth this time. She
wants them all to fuck her, Kalisha thought. That's what she
thinks about when she's up there. But how do I know that? Maybe
I don't. Maybe those are my thougths. She wished she were home,
where she could take her clothes off and get out her thin silver
vibrator. She watched the brunette walk off the stage, down a
small set of stairs and across the aisle where a flimsy looking
wooden door opened to admit her.
Kalisha got up and followed.
The room felt small -- not just because Kalisha was nearly 5'10",
for in heels the other girls were about her height. The room was
only a little larger than the bathroom in her apartment, and more
crowded than her bathroom ever got. The blonde was there, and
the brunette, and the waitress. Glittery costumes were on
hangers in a tiny closet. Makeup was scattered about a counter.
All eyes turned to look at Kalisha.
The blonde wore a red lame dress that showed lots of cleavage and
even more leg. The waitress threatened to burst out of her crop
top. The brunette wore nothing at all. Kalisha felt out of
place.
"Hi, I'm Karen, this is my club," said the waitress.
"Monica," said the naked and voluptuous brunette.
"Kali," Kalisha told them.
The blonde shrugged. "I'm going out for a smoke." She slipped
out the side door.
"You're pretty," Karen said.
"Thanks," said Kalisha.
"Would you like to dance?"
"I don't know." The thought excited her. Wasn't she chosen by
the goddess of lust? Shouldn't men lust after her? But then
there was her job-- somehow Mr. Johnson seemed unlikely to be
amused by the idea that one of his CPA's was stripping in her
spare time.
"Maybe we can convince you," said Monica.
"Maybe you should sit down, think about it," said Karen.
Kalisha sat down on one of the two barstools in the room. Karen
pulled over the other and sat next to her.
"I saw you trying to get some relief-- it's hard out there," said
Karen sympathetically. "And in that skirt-- if you wore
something shorter--"
"Maybe without panties," added Monica.
"Then you could just slide your fingers right in, couldn't you?"
Kalisha gulped, and nodded.
"But with all this clothing, I think you probably need a little
help."
Karen slid Kalisha's jacket off, and Kalisha didn't resist.
Monica knelt on the floor and removed shoes. Her hand was soft
and cool as it slid up Kalisha's calf.
A month ago, Kalisha would have been on her feet, leaving her
jacket and shoes behind in her haste to leave. But now, she
relaxed. It felt so good, and they didn't seem to expect her to
do anything. As she relaxed, she let her knees drift apart just
a little, yielding to Monica's gentle pressure.
"Oooh, nice panties," Monica said. Kalisha blushed.
"And a very lacy black bra," said Karen, who had undone two of
Kalisha's buttons. Kalisha hadn't even noticed, because she had
closed her eyes and Monica's hands were too distracting. "Would
you like to go out in those?" asked Karen.
Kalisha gulped. Walk out in just her underwear? She shook her
head.
Monica shrugged. "In that case," she said, with a mischievous
grin. "Lift your bottom."
Kalisha did. Monica grabbed her panties, and yanked, nearly
jerking Kalisha off the stool.
Karen's hands slipped into her bra, between the lacy fabric and
the silky smooth skin of her breasts. Monica's head was
disappearing from view. It was happening so fast, and Kalisha's
head was spinning.
The blonde walked in, bringing the cool outside air with her.
She glanced about, and smirked, before heading through the door
on the other side.
Karen chuckled. "She's so straight," she murmured. So am I,
thought Kalisha, but the protest died on her lips. Monica was
doing things with her tongue she had never been able to get her
old boyfriend to do. Kalisha thought she must be wet enough to
flood a river, she was so aroused. Karen was fondling her
breasts just right, not tweaking her sensitive nipples too
rarely, or too often. Suddenly, it felt like the most natural
thing in the world to reach out and lift up Karen's top to reveal
her large breasts, and then to heft one in her hand and suck on a
puckered nipple.
"Hey," said a voice, "You started the party without me."
Kalisha had opened her eyes, to see the redheaded stripper, naked
like Monica. Her breasts were smaller, her frame more petite.
Her pussy was shaved, but the freckles on her face hinted that
she was a natural redhead.
"I'm Wendy, by the way," said the red-head, before pulling the
left side of Kalisha's bra down and licking around her nipple.
"Um, Kali," Kalisha managed, not sure Wendy was even listening.
She was ready to explode. All the sensations of three women
working on her most sensitive spots had made her hit overload.
Monica sat back, just then, her tongue abandoning Kalisha'sslit.
"Noooooo," moaned Kalisha.
"Get her a costume," said Karen.
Wendy removed her unbuttoned shell, Karen her bra, Monica her
skirt. Then Karen's hand covered her eyes, and Wendy (she
guessed) gave her tit one more suck. She could have pushed
Karen's hand away, but she didn't.
She felt satin caress her breasts, and then her legs and thighs.
She smelled leather, heard a zipper and the snap of a clasp.
Finally, Karen took her hand away, and Kalisha's eyes fluttered
open. A gaudy necklace of beads was draped around her neck,
cascading purple and green into her ample cleavage. She saw
herself in the mirror, with a black satin bra and leather
micro-skirt, thighs lewdly apart, the thin black lines of
suspenders holding up fishnet stockings. Monica was putting
black high-heeled sandals on her feet, three inches high--
shorter than the heels on the other shoes she saw around the tiny
room, but still frighteningly high to Kalisha. She shook her
head to clear it-- where were the fingers, the tongues, the lips?
She moaned.
Karen murmured, softly, "You're on, honey."
Kalisha looked at Wendy, who smiled at her. "You can do it,"
said the red head, offering Kalisha a hand.
Kalisha hesitated, but as she got to her feet she saw herself in
the mirror again. She looked incredibly sexy. Her hair, even
darker than Monica's, almost matched the shiny black satin and
leather. Nearly as tall as most men normally, she was incredibly
tall in the heels. Her nipples, aroused, made sharp points in
the fabric of the bra. The matching satin panties were damp, but
the urgent need to orgasm faded into a desire to draw it out and
make it spectacular. She nodded, and smiled. Then, still
watching herself in the mirror, she allowed herself a little
smirk.
The first three steps were shaky, but she had always had good
balance. Wendy held her hand, led her out the door. A few heads
turned her way, watching the new girl approach the runway, but
most were still on the naked blonde who was wrapping up her
dance. Kalisha's next few steps were more confident, despite the
stairs. Up high on the runway, in the heels, Kalisha felt
incredibly tall and powerful. She knew that the men close by
could see up her skirt; she walked close to one edge to give some
of them a better view.
The blonde brushed past on her way to the dressing room. Wendy
stopped at the start of the runway, and smiled at her. The naked
redhead wrapped her arms around Kalisha and gave her a wet kiss,
to cheers from the audience. Then Wendy tucked a dollar bill
into the band of Kalisha's stocking, letting her fingers linger
on Kalisha's thigh for a few moments longer than necessary before
disengaging and heading for the dressing room.
The touch re-inflamed Kalisha's desire. She was stable enough in
the heels to stalk the runway with authority, but not to dance,
so she grabbed onto a pole for support, whirling around it. She
wrapped her legs around it, and slid along its length. Her skirt
started to roll up on her, and it was already scarcely wider than
a belt. The metal was cool against her thigh, but the feel of it
through her panties was electrifying. All thought of being coy
left her as she rubbed herself against the pole. The bra
unfastened in the front, and she threw it aside, sliding herself
up and down the long pole so that it nestled between her breasts
as well as her thighs. She gave it a lick. There werewhistles.
She unzipped her skirt and discarded it, and tried again with the
pole. The pole was nice, long and hard, but it wasn't quite
hitting the spot. She let it go, reluctantly, letting the
momentum of a twirl around it send her away, not even trying to
keep her balance in the heels. Instead, she controlled her fall,
ending up on her hands and knees on the runway. She crawled to
the end, where more people could get a better view, conscious of
her breasts swaying beneath her.
She looked for the men she had brought to orgasm, but as far as
she could tell each had left. A satisfied customer, in all
senses of the word.
She gave a little gasp as she recognized someone from work.
Management of some sort, but no one she knew well. Steve
somebody, if she remembered right. He was thin, athletic, his
glasses made him look slightly bookish. She had his full
attention. She didn't know if he recognized her or not. If he
did, it was too late now, she realized. She focused on him, and
balancing on her knees and one palm, and slid her right hand down
the curve of her neck, over her breasts and stomach, and then
inside the waistband of her panties.
She found the little nub of flesh she was feeling for, and
swirled her fingers around it. Her eyes were locked, watching
the man watching her, drinking in the intensity of his gaze. Her
own fingers wouldn't leave her on the edge, like cruel Monica's.
She curled her hand, slipping her middle finger into her well
lubricated cunt. Money was being tossed near her. Outreached
hands reached for the band at her thighd at her thigh, to add
their offerings to the collection Wendy had started. A few, not
able to reach, tossed the folded bills so that they fluttered
against her instead. There were voices that went with the money
flingers, but she was focused on just the one pair of eyes.
He took out a bill, folded it, and placed it in front of her, and
then translated the voices for her. "Take them off," he said to
her.
She didn't want to stop her fingers, even for a moment. She was
so close. But she knelt up, pulling her panties down, than
wiggling out of them. She spread her knees -- not out of any
exhibitionist desire, she just wanted easier access for her
fingers. She plunged three into her sopping cunt, fucking
herself hard with them. A whimper escaped her, and then a wave
of pleasure engulfed her. But the audience, of course, thought
it was all for them.
Her vision clearing, slowly, she saw the bill the man from work
had placed on the stage. It was a twenty. She made more in a
quarter hour at work, but there was something different about
making it this way, with her body. She wrapped it around her wet
fingers, spread her legs wide, and then slowly pushed it inside
her. Again she had the strange sense that she knew exactly what
he was thinking, could sense his desire. He wanted the sense
that he had bought the right to be inside her. There was
something darker there, too, something scary. She shook her
head, and crawled back down the runway until she was halfway,
looking about at the money placed in front of her. The sense of
darkness left her-- she sensed adoration here, there a curiosity
to see what she would do next, there a desperate lust. She
scorned the singles, sniffed at the fives, took a ten to her
mouth and gave it a sultry kiss. Finally, someone got it, and
put a twenty down. She spread her legs for him, and watched his
eyes as he watched her fingers slowly stuff the bill inside her.
If only, thought Kalisha, they could all offer me their cocks
instead of their money, I'd take them all. The thought brought
her to the edge again, and the touch of her fingers sent her over
it.
Monica and Wendy, dressed in short skirts and tight white shirts,
almost matching, were headed down the runway towards her. Her
set was over, she guessed-- had she done something wrong? She
had gotten carried away, and she wasn't sure what was legal and
what wasn't. But they went by her, collecting the money she had
left as well as her clothes, with smiles and flirtatious winks.
Kalisha got to her feet, grabbing a pole for help, and heard
applause. She tried a bow, and shook her tits for the audience.
The she brought her fingers to her lips, only to have Wendy grab
her wrist to stop her. She blinked.
The redhead brought her own lips to Kalisha's wet fingers, her
mouth closing around them. Kalisha felt Wendy's tongue against
them, far more thorough than it needed to be for just show. The
cheers were deafening. Then Wendy's cool hand enfolded hers, and
Kalisha let herself be led, scarcely aware of anything but the
white noise of applause until she was once again in the dressing
room.
"May I have a twenty, if I fetch it?" asked Wendy, with a smile.
Wendy and Monica had placed the pile of bills they had collected
on stop of the stack of Kalisha's clothes. It wasn't the money
Wendy was after, Kalisha knew. She was beginning to trust her
sense of other people's desires. It must, she mused, be a gift
from the goddess.
Kalisha nodded, letting herself be maneuvered to a chair.
"Hmm. I guess that makes me your whore," said Wendy. She tried
using her tongue to get the money out, but only succeeded at
driving Kalisha to another orgasm, partly because Monica was
playing Kalisha's tits at the same time. Finally, Wendy wiggled
her fingers deep inside, and removed the sopping money.
"So if you're my whore, what does that make me?" asked Kalisha,
when she could finally breathe normally again.
"On in fifteen minutes," Wendy told her with a laugh.
"Oh!"
"I think this will fit her," said Karen, who had walked in
sometime during the money-fetching expedition. She was holding a
bright orange stretchy lycra mini dress whose hem just might keep
Kalisha's panties hidden.
A few minutes later, on stage, she was sliding the hem up to make
sure it *didn't* hide her panties. Steve was nowhere to be seen.
She wondered at the darkness she sensed in his lust -- it was
tempting and frightening at the same time.
It was impossible, from the lit stage, to see into the audience
beyond those who sat next to the catwalk, but she felt the
swirled desire of men as she danced -- and to her surprise, a few
women in the shadows. Their lust ranged from the perverse to the
mundane, and each doffed article of clothing, each lascivious
motion of her hips, each caress of her hand, inflamed them more.
So many of them were hers for the taking.
But it was Wendy she took home, and together they slept until
noon.
Kalisha Connors -- Erotica Writer
www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Kalisha/www
---------------------------------
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The New Yahoo! Search - Faster. Easier. Bingo.
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