Aphrodite's Chosen Ch. 02

Late on a Friday night, Kalisha was walking home alone, dressed in a boxy blue suit and flats. The street was crowded with people jostling each other as they headed to restaurants and bars. Kalisha envied their energy. The Monday after she met Aphrodite at O'Malley's, Mr. Johnson had dumped a major new account with a Friday deadline into her lap. It had taken a week of fourteen-hour days to get it done, and she was tired. She had promised Aphrodite she'd do something wild and crazy and sexy within a week. Time was running short, and she hadn't had time to think of anything.

A man brushed her shoulder. She held tightly onto her purse. One can't be too careful. She laughed quietly at herself. I'm just not the wild and crazy type. Caution comes naturally to me. Last Saturday's promise to change all that seemed like a flight of fancy. She had enjoyed kissing Aphrodite in the bar, and the heat of the eyes watching them. But it was a one-off.

"Aphrodite?" she asked, but there was no answer, nothing but the rustling of pieces of paper blowing down the sidewalk. Kalisha sighed. Goddesses, it seemed, only talked to you when they felt like it.

She watched a man go into a bar with blackened windows. White letters on the window read "The 360 Club." 360 what? wondered Kalisha as she walked by. Degrees, maybe, a complete turn around. Just what I need. She stopped, glanced about. She noticed the number 356 on an old brownstone townhouse. She'd recently moved into 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 walked a little further, and then stopped, curiosity getting 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 was dimly lit with only a single bluish light, but the second door seemed more inviting: a clean wooden door stained to look like maple, and varnished to reflect what little light struck it. Her eyes adjusted to the darkness. Rock music came through the thick wood. She took a breath and opened the door. A tide of sound washed over her.

She froze in the doorway. What lay beyond was no more brightly lit than the hallway. What light there was shone on a catwalk-like stage. The patrons sitting on barstools around the stage were just barely visible. The rest of the tables were shrouded in darkness broken only by the occasional flickering light of a votive candle.

My goodness, she's not wearing anything.

The girl on the stage was naked. Her breasts were small, with nipples that stuck straight out, but they were big enough to bounce as she gyrated around the pole in the center. Her only garment was a lacy garter stuffed with dollar bills. Her fluffy expanse of platinum hair had to come from a bottle. Kalisha stood transfixed while the dancer acknowledged a patron's tip by spreading her legs and dancing for a few brief moments as if she danced just for him.

While Kalisha gaped at the dancer, a large black man perched on a stool near the entrance eyed her. No doubt he was there to weed out anyone who couldn't show ID. Kalisha often got carded, but the man said nothing. She spotted a seat at an empty table in the corner, and quickly moved to sit down.

The blonde blew kisses to a few of the patrons and gathered up her scattered clothes before departing. A voluptuous brunette wearing a very tight policewoman's shirt and swinging a billy club was next. The shirt was barely long enough to cover her crotch.

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. Meanwhile, the policewoman danced and unbuttoned, revealing a black lacy bra and matching thong.

A nervous young man with thick glasses entered, and got carded. A few years younger than me. He looked around. Finally, he sat down next to Kalisha, avoiding eye contact.

The stripper's bra had flown off by the time he sat down, and the panties shimmied down her legs to reveal a neatly trimmed bush.

"Enjoying the show?" asked Kalisha quietly.

The young man looked startled. "You're a girl!" he exclaimed.

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.

"Last I checked. 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 watched the men watch. She has power. The men are in her thrall, wondering what she'll do with the billy club. Money was being tossed onto the stage in willing tribute to the woman's naked beauty.

Aphrodite would be pleased. This is her temple.

The stripper collected the money. 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. "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 and nodded again. Kalisha looked down. It was too dark to tell how hard he was. She reached out until she felt denim, and then walked her fingers up his leg. She wasn't disappointed. His erection jumped delightfully at her touch.

"Just watch the stage," she said, as he started to turn towards her again. He turned his gaze back to the slowly undressing redhead.

Kalisha slid his zipper 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 freed a rampant cock. She slid her hand over the silky skin of it, and 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. On the stage, the dancer twirled. Her skirt, held on by a single clasp, rose as she moved faster. She undid the clasp and the skirt dropped off entirely, leaving her in underwear and her MaryJanes.

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 grasped for breath. Kalisha slipped away, leaving only an empty seat to greet his gaze when he found the courage to look around.

She sat behind a businessman next, in a nice gray suit. He was probably twice her age. He, too, obeyed her when she told him not to turn around. She reached around him to unzip his trousers while a dusky skinned beauty took the redhead's place on the stage. His cock grew slowly in her hands. She pressed her body up against his back. He lasted the entire dance before he came. She wiped her hands dry on his expensive trousers, and moved on, a flittering angel of lust.

Other men sat alone in corners, but something made her pass them up. She somehow knew they would not be content with the anonymous pleasure she was offering tonight. They would look. How she knew this from the shadows of their face she didn't know, but she was nonetheless.

The brunette was back on stage, this time as a sexy nurse. Close to the stage sat a slender man in his thirties with a neatly trimmed beard and a red power tie. The light was better, but it was still hard to make out much in the way of features, and the empty seat next to him was shadowed by a supporting pillar. Kalisha sat there. When the man felt her questing hands, he undid his zipper. Kalisha held his erection in her right hand. Her left slipped under the waistband of her skirt and snaked into her panties. The angle was wrong, so she changed tactics, hiking up her skirt until she could reach her moist slit the other way, but that was also awkward. Her hand on the man's cock faltered during the maneuver, and Kalisha barely noticed him start to turn. "Don't," she said, reaching to the man's cheekbone to turn him back. She wondered if he felt the wetness from her pussy against his cheek. In any case, he did not turn.

The waitress came by. Kalisha was sure she could see what was happening. Her heart beat faster. But the waitress just took the man's beer order and swished away. The presence of an observer excited the man. His stiff cock grew larger in Kalisha's hand. All that was left of the stripper's costume was a stethoscope. Kalisha could feel the man's pulse beating fast as she stroked his cock.

The waitress returned. She pulled a note from her tight shorts and handed it to Kalisha. As the waitress reached past the man, her breasts, threatening to fall out from the stretched crop top, brushed against the man's face. He came.

Kalisha slipped through the crowd to a table with a candle flickering on it, and read the note. "Come to the dressing room." Kalisha hesitated. The stripper finished and gathered up her clothes. The redheaded schoolgirl came out, this time leather clad, a riding crop gripped in her teeth. She wants to fuck them all. That's what she thinks about when she's up there. But how do I know that?

She could feel it, though. She felt the cacophony of lustful thoughts of the men around her. Some wanted to fuck the redhead. Some wanted the brunette to go down on them. A few were still thinking about the blonde. Lust was everywhere. She guessed that her awareness was a gift from Aphrodite. The thoughts she felt aroused her.

The brunette walked off the stage, down a small set of stairs and across the aisle to where a flimsy looking wooden door opened to admit her. Kalisha followed.

The room was only a little larger than the bathroom in her apartment, and more crowded than her bathroom ever got. The blonde, the brunette, and the waitress were there. Glittery costumes hung on 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 dressed in her work clothes.

"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 on stage?"

"I don't know." The thought excited her. She had been chosen by the goddess of lust. Shouldn't men lust after her? But somehow her boss seemed unlikely to be amused by one of his CPA's stripping in her spare time. Mr. Johnson was an old prude.

"Maybe we can convince you," said Monica.

"Sit down, think about it," said Karen.

Kalisha sat 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 to do that out there. If only your skirt was shorter."

"Maybe without panties," added Monica.

"Then you could just slide your fingers right in, couldn't you?" Karen asked.

Kalisha gulped and nodded.

"But with all this clothing, I think you probably need a little help." Karen slid Kalisha's jacket off her shoulders. Monica knelt on the floor and removed Kalisha's shoes. Her hand was soft and cool as it slid up Kalisha's calf.

Before meeting Aphrodite, Kalisha would have left her jacket and shoes behind in her haste to get away. But the touch felt so good, and Monica and Karen didn't seem to expect her to do anything. She relaxed, yielding to Monica's gentle pressure and letting her knees drift apart.

Monica pushed her skirt up. "Oooh, nice panties," Kalisha blushed.

Karen undid two of the buttons on Kalisha's blouse. "And a lacy black bra. "Would you like to go out in those?"

Walk out in my underwear? Kalisha shook her head.

Monica shrugged and the grinned mischievously. "In that case lift your bottom."

Kalisha did. Monica grabbed her panties and yanked, nearly jerking Kalisha off the stool.

Karen's hands slid between the lacy fabric of Kalisha's bra and the silky smooth skin of her breasts. Monica's head dipped between Kalisha's legs. It was happening so fast. Kalisha's head was spinning.

The blonde walked in, bringing the cool outside air with her. She smirked before heading through the door on the other side.

Karen chuckled. "She's so straight," she murmured.

So was 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's pussy tingled with arousal, and she imagined she was wet enough to make Monica's face very messy. Karen was fondling her breasts just right, not tweaking her sensitive nipples too rarely or too often. It felt like the most natural thing in the world to reach out and lift up Karen's top to reveal her large breasts. She cupped one and sucked on Karen's puckered nipple.

"Hey," said a voice, "You started the party without me." Kalisha 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. She tossed her outfit to the corner.

"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 brought her right to the edge.

Monica sat back, her tongue abandoning Kalisha's slit.

"Noooooo," moaned Kalisha.

"Get her a costume," said Karen.

Wendy removed Kalisha's unbuttoned blouse, Karen her bra, and Monica her skirt. Wendy gave her nipple one more suck, as Karen covered Kalisha's eyes with a cool hand.

Satin caressed her breasts. She smelled leather, heard a zipper and the snap of a clasp. Finally, Karen took her hand away. 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 kissed her toes before putting black spike heels on her feet. Distracted by the thoughts of the tongues and fingers of the other women, she shook her head to clear it.

"You're on, honey," Karen told her.

Wendy smiled at her. "You can do it," said the redhead, offering Kalisha a hand.

Am I really going to do this? As Kalisha got to her feet she saw herself in the mirror. 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 over six feet tall in the heels. Her hard nipples made sharp points in the fabric of the bra. Her urgent need to orgasm had faded into a desire to draw it out and make it spectacular. She allowed herself a little smirk. I look like someone a goddess of lust would choose.

Her first steps in the heels were shaky, but she thought she could get the hang of them. Wendy held her hand and led her out the door. Heads turned her way, watching the new girl approach the runway, but most were still on the naked blonde wrapping up her dance. Kalisha's next steps were more confident. On the runway, in the heels, Kalisha felt incredibly tall and powerful. Men close by were trying to look 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. 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, her fingers lingering on Kalisha's thigh longer than necessary before disengaging and stepping back.

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 marched to the pole and grabbed it for support. Wrapping her legs around it, she slid along its length. Her skirt rolled up until it was already scarcely wider than a belt. The feel of the pole through her panties was electrifying, even though it was cold where it touched bare flesh. All thoughts of being coy left her as she rubbed herself against the pole. She unfastened the bra and threw it aside, sliding up and down the long pole so it nestled between her breasts as well as her thighs. She gave it a lick to appreciative whistles.

She unzipped her skirt and discarded it. She tried again with the pole. The pole was long and hard, but wasn't quite hitting the spot. Reluctantly she let the momentum of a twirl send her away from it. Not even trying to keep her balance in the heels, she controlled her fall, ending up on her hands and knees. She crawled to the edge of the stage, 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 gasped 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. Balancing on her knees and one palm, she 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. She locked gazes with Steve. She wouldn't leave herself on the edge like cruel Monica. She slipped her middle finger into her well lubricated pussy. Outreached hands reached for the band at her thigh to add their offerings to the collection Wendy had started. A few, unable to reach, tossed folded bills so that they fluttered against her body. People were shouting, but she focused on just the one pair of eyes.

Steve took out a bill, folded it, 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 pleasuring herself even for a moment. She was so close. But she knelt up, pulled her panties down, and wiggled out of them. She spread her knees, not out of exhibitionist desire, but for easier access. She plunged three fingers into her sopping cunt, fucking herself hard. She whimpered, and then a wave of pleasure engulfed her, and with it, a rush of thoughts from the audience. They thought the show was all for them.

When her vision cleared she saw the bill Steve had placed on the stage. It was a hundred. She made more in a hour at work, but there was something different about making it 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. He thought he had bought the right to be inside her. Asshole. She shook her head and crawled back down the runway until she was halfway, looking about at the money placed in front of her. As she turned away from him the sense of darkness left her-- she sensed adoration among the crowd, curiosity to see what she would do next, and deep abiding 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.