The Slave, the Stripper and the Slut Page 5

  Claire's dance became more exaggerated causing the man's eyes began to bug out of his head and his jaw dropped. She found satisfaction in taunting this man with something he could never have. She wagged her hips up to a standing position, jiggling her tits in front of him, the sight of which caused the viewer to visibly drool like an idiot. After making this conquest she went on down the stage, finding other victims to drive mad with her moves and beauty. Claire's personality was fading with each strutting step, which each hip bump, with each chest jiggle. She was losing herself before the audience, becoming their fantasy as well as her own, drinking in their cheers and applause, but most importantly their fixed stares that were locked on her body. She began to see herself through them and savor what they saw, the fullness of her breasts, the power of her thighs, the seductiveness of her curves.

  By the time Trent Reznor's acid-like voice was singing the song's refrain, she sauntered to the stage pole and was grinding against it as if she were taking a lover. When the song increased in intensity, she did too, assaulting the pole, arching a leg around the poll and spinning fiercely around it in lightning fast circles. She arched back, her hair came loose and spilled out in a shower of silken tendrils and she tossed her glasses away. She was a gyroscope of sexy curves. In an instant, she was off the pole and out of her flimsy dress and rubbing her body and posing and flexing to the roars of the crowd, naked except for her heels and thongs. At the same time, she was flinging away her restraint, her self-control as the needs of her body to be seen and the return of her long lost fantasy to strip merged together into a controlling power within her.

  Claire moved down the stage again, occasionally swinging her hips and rolling her ass into a crouch before a forest of hands waving bills, letting only the ones with the largest denominations slide the folded paper up her thigh and into g-string. If the money was really big, she pulled the owner close so their face was pressed against her tits. When the music was reaching a crescendo, she spun away to the end of the stage, crawling cat like until the song's words burned into her. "I want to fuck you like an animal!" She bucked forward and backward as if she was being taken like a beast, her back was arched, her hair flailing, her tits bobbing fiercely. She even growled. In a way, she was a beast now. She was something deeply primal, something ruled by a ravenous appetite, but it wasn't sustenance she craved but the need to show her body and to be seen and desired . The compulsion laced her consciousness and dulled her reason.

  The crowd erupted into a deafening roar. Claire drank in the moment she had thirsted for all her life-bringing an audience to its feet, screaming with adoration. When she left the stage to make way for the next dancer, it struck her that this moment had come about by becoming what Miss Prymm wanted, by using her body in the most sinful and seductive ways, by adopting poses and positions only hours ago she would have disdained as the stuff of bimbos, strippers, and whores only hours ago. Something she had wanted all her life had not come from those years of studying and performing jazz and modern dance. It had come from becoming Miss Prymm's dancer. Claire found herself actually grateful to Miss Prymm and Dr. Don for making this moment possible. She hungered for more moments just like it.

  "Enjoy yourself, my dear?" Miss Prymm cooed as Claire re-entered the dressing room.

  "Oh, yes!" Claire blurted. "So much. Can I go on again? Please?"

  "That depends." Miss Prymm said curtly. "The slots on the stage rotation are full. I can't send a girl out who won't do what she is told."

  Claire gasped. She was finding experience was addictive as it was exhilarating and the idea that she might be left out filled her with an overwhelming sadness. Her resistance reduced to a nagging doubt, a whisper, subsumed under the weight of her new personality's power.

  "Tell me what to do, and I'll do it!" Claire said desperately. Miss Prymm looked at her slowly and Claire lowered her head. "I'll do whatever you ask." Claire felt the bitter shame in her growing sense of defeat even as the promised rewards of dancing seemed so great.

  "See that you do." Miss Prymm laughed. "We'll see if there is an open slot in an hour."

  "Yes." Claire said meekly. She gave Miss Prymm complete power over her. Because Miss Prymm controlled access to the dance floor and the stage she wanted to take, her urge to dance overwhelmed any opposition to her commands. When Miss Prymm raised an eyebrow to her response as if she expected something more, Claire quickly responded, "Yes, Mother!" She opened her heart to Miss Prymm and her mind, allowing her to Miss Prymm to write her commands on both.

  Miss Prymm took delight in seeing Claire compose herself as a servile stripper. "While you are waiting, sweet Morgana, use your special skills to make my customers comfortable. Do well and I'll get you into the rotation."

  Claire squealed with excitement. She would do just as Miss Prymm asked. After she returned to the hall, she realized from the activities of the other dancers that making Miss Prymm's customers comfortable meant soliciting them to buy lap dances. Claire threw herself into her performances. She was in much demand from her d so she could pick and choose who she wanted to dance for. When she spotted a candidate, usually good looking with expensive clothes and a watch, she would appear before them, bouncing her tits beneath the flimsy dress she had danced in, twirling her hair. "Wanna dance?' She would ask. The man or woman was always too flabbergasted to refuse. She pushed them in a chair and acrobatically created a fantasy of allure on and around them. She pulled her thong strap to let them slip in their cash and then was on her way to find another customer. At first, that last part of Claire that still clung to being Claire cringed at using her body and her dance in this shameless way, but with each dance she thought less and less about about it, until she wasn't thinking about much at all other dancing and collecting money.

  A pleased Miss Prymm caught Claire after one of her lap dances, "Morgana, dear." She told Claire. "We have a request for a private dance from a very important customer. The thing is, he wants you to play."

  Claire looked confused. "Play, Mother?"

  "Yes dear. Miss Prymm told her. "He wants your lap dance to be a bit more physical."

  Claire froze as she guessed Miss Prymm's meaning. The old part of her rose in power, pushing aside her stripper persona. This was a matter of survival. If she did this thing, there would be no turning back. She would do it again and again. She would have broken her pre-nup with her husband, he would find out, he had people to find out those things, and she would be cast out, with no source of income but this, being one of Miss Prymm's strippers.

  Miss Prymm sensed her hesitation. "Of course, you don't have to, my dear. However, my customers expect the top dancers to put out for the right price. I can't have them being disappointed so I can't put anyone in the rotation who isn't willing to play."

  The threat of not being able to take the stage let Claire's s persona roll back, just like water that has been displaced by a stone comes rushing back. Claire was too weak to resist the demanding urge of her body to dance and be seen. There was nothing she wouldn't do, even if it meant giving up her comfortable existence as a housewife, she was unable to stop herself from surrendering that too.

  Miss Prymm led her to a room where a well-dressed man sat in a chair, his hands handcuffed behind him and his mouth gagged with a red ball held there by black leather straps.

  "Just a precaution." Miss Prymm explained. "We have strict restrictions on touching. My girls are far to alluring to trust any man to keep his hands or his mouth to himself. You know what to do?"

  Claire nodded. Miss Prymm closed the door and a Nickelback song came on, the exact one she had been humming when she had danced for herself back at her home. Home, she was so far from it now, mentally more than physically.

  Claire slowly descended upon him, her body swaying in time to the music. She could see in his face how he wanted desperately to run his hands over her body. To taunt him, she felt herself as he wanted to feel her. Her fingers made a long and seductive journey over her body, running thr
ough her silken hair, down her neck, over the full summits of her breasts, across her tight tummy and over her hips and to grasp her round ass. Then they made a return journey revisiting the sensuality of her body's geography, slowly, gently and lovingly. Her moves took the sensual tension he was feeling and transformed it from an amusement into agonizing want. He groaned and strained fruitlessly at his restraints.

  Delighting in his reaction, Claire strutted around him, playing with his hair and laughing triumphantly as if her were a downtrodden warrior captured in battle. When she was in front of him again and so close she barely touched him, she spun around and rolled her hips in a circle, grinding down and brushing against his knees as she descended into a crouch, lifting and sweeping her dress as she went so he could get a playful close-up view of the hypnotic motion of her ass. She over her shoulder at him teasingly. His wrists were jerking against the restraints and he lolled his head as if in a fit but the mound at his crotch showed where his thoughts lay. She ascended and then swept ass back and forth over it, letting it tremble like an earthquake.

  In an instant, Claire spun around and threw off her dress. She crawled up on to his lap and pulled his face into her tits, squeezing their sweet velvety flesh against his face, making him drown in her sweaty musk. She rocked in time to the music, pulling him into her flesh, suffocating him to one beat, and letting him go in another so that he could drink air again. She giggled. This was power. Here was this man, no doubt richer than anyone she had ever known, and here he was as helpless as a baby. She could even use him to pleasure her.

  Claire slid down to a crouch before him and expertly undid his trousers and pulled at them and the man's underwear so they were at his knees. His cock was erect like a pole. She licked her red lips as if she were going to devour it. The man's eye's went wide as if that was what he expected but while she did swallow his prick she did not bite it, her head bobbing over it sheathing and then releasing it. The man gurgled and his prick jerked as if were ready to cum. Claire gave a “tsk tsk” motion with her fingers and mounted his lap once again. Claire knew that once she did what she planned to do there would be no turning back. Her husband would disown her, somehow he would find out, he would know she had screwed someone else. Up to this point there was still some hope that he would understand that everything she had done now was against her will. This was the fantasy her, the creature that Dr. Don and created and Miss Prymm had created. As fantastic as it sounded, there was still a chance he would forgive. But her dance was merged with lust now and she was beyond the recall of rationality.

  Claire lifted her legs, swept them around and onto him, resting her ankles on his shoulders, leaning back leaned on her hands which clasped his knees. She lifted herself up and then fell on his hardened shaft, easing herself on it with a piston-like pumping motion, letting him slowly into her. She would use this man no matter what the consequences now. She was not to be kept on a shelf or closeted away any longer, she was a vital, virile woman, an exotic dancer who was the embodiment of lust. Her body was on fire with heat and the room's dull light glistened off her tightening body. The man's head was thrown back in stifled screams that barely passed his gag. He was Claire's now. She owned him.

  Once the man was deep within Claire, she lifted her waist and let it fall more forcefully the grinding beat. Each time she impaled herself on him, her ass hit his pelvis with a loud smack. The man was delirious now but Claire had that part of him that she wanted and used to hit exactly where she needed to be hit. Still she got what she wanted. Her body began to vibrate as if she were coming apart. Her panting became moans and her moans became screams as her cunt grabbed his manhood and squeezed it. She crested an orgasm that hit her like a thunderclap, blinding her and nearly cleaving her mind with pleasure. For a moment she was sucked into it and all of reality dissolved. When she returned, she rocked on the man as she enjoyed some last treasures. She hadn't even realized he had cum too. The experience had been too much for him as he was unconscious with his head down but with hints of a smile on his gagged lips.

  Miss Prymm was waiting for Claire when she left the room.

  "How did it go, Morgana?" She asked.

  Claire, now Morgana, laughed. "He may have survived."

  Claire danced the night away, on stage, on laps, before crowds and individuals who could afford the price Miss Prymm charged for the privilege. The club finally closed in the early morning hours but Claire begged Miss Prymm to stay.

  "Don't send me back!" She pleaded. "I belong here now."

  Miss Prymm laughed gently. "You do indeed, sweet Morgana, but Dr. Dunlop has not finished with you yet. When his work is complete and if you are still willing, then you can be totally mine."

  Miss Prymm had restored Rachel's wits, the two housewives drove home. For most of the ride they were silent, but when they reached their suburban neighborhood, Claire finally spoke up.

  "This place is so unreal to me now. It's so dull and so bleak. I don't belong here. I belong at Miss Prymm's." She murmured.

  Rachel nodded. "I know what you mean. As much as I have tried to fight Dr. Dunlop's programming, I find that I can become anyone that he wants me to be or anyone he gives me to wants to be, even Racquel the slutty waitress. As crazy as it sounds, this is the most free I have ever been in my life."

  The car stopped in Claire's driveway. Claire rested her palm on Rachel's hand. The two looked at each other and felt a deeper connection between each other than they had ever felt before.

  "Rachel, I know its late...um...early but..." Claire stammered.

  "You don't have to ask." Rachel told her.

  The stripper and the slave went inside and made the most passionate love they had ever enjoyed in their whole lives.

  Part 3: The Slut

  Gina Bracco was waiting for her latte when she saw Rachel McGill and Claire Willis from across the Starbucks. They were sitting at a table, across from one another, each woman leaning forward in rapt attention to what the other was saying. Gina didn't know Rachel or Claire more than casually. Even though they lived slinky pink thong, with a tiny pink bow in the middle, and matching pink high heels. on the same street, their paths never seemed to cross. Gina chalked this up to being different ages and having different interests. Rachel and Claire were both in their late 20s and were into "artsy-fartsy" stuff. Gina had just made 20 and liked nothing better than a night of clubbing.

  Gina sighed. She didn't go clubbing much these days. After getting married two years ago, her husband, Dan was less and less into going out. Nowadays, all he did in his spare time was watch sports and drink beer. When he did go out, it was with his buddies to a sports bar. When he came home from that he was too drunk to do anything but pass out.

  The barista called Gina's name and handed her the latte. Gina took a reflective sip. Dan had his friends to party with while she had hardly made any since they moved here. Gina decided she should get her own friends to party with. Girlfriends. Why not make friends with Rachel and Claire, she asked herself. Sure they were older but they seemed kind of fun.

  Gina walked over to the table where the two women were sitting.

  "Hey, Rachel. Hey, Claire." Gina interrupted them with sprightly cheerfulness. "I haven't seen you two around in a while. What have you been up to?"

  "Hey, Gina." Rachel replied. "You know, I've become a professional slave and Claire here now spends her nights as a high-class exotic dancer."

  "Rachel!" Claire protested. "I'm a stripper. Exotic dancers don't take off all their clothes. I do!"

  Gina gave a nervous laugh. "Come on, the way you two girls talk." There was an awkward pause in the conversation as Gina waited for Rachel and Claire to give serious answers. They didn't.

  "God, girls." Gina said finally. "If you don’t want to talk to me, just say so!"

  After Gina stormed off, Rachel asked Claire, "So what do you think her secret fantasy is?"

  Claire gave the departing Gina a good stare. "Bondage. Getting tied up. Ball and gag, S&M,
the whole deal."

  Rachel laughed. "Did you put the Sir's chip on her?"

  "Yeah." Claire answered. "Slipped it into her handbag while you dropped those bombshells about our new lives. Was that a smart thing to do? I don't want to advertise being a stripper to the world just yet."